Puzzles
by lovesickjily
Summary: Loving Lily Evans was as natural as the freckles on her skin, and yet, disappointment seemed to strike at the most inopportune times. Soulmate AU with angst.
1. the reason you are living in my heart

hiii this fic is honestly a rollercoaster of emotions ahh. part 1/3 with weekly updatess

* * *

As a child, James had always thought it ridiculous that having a particular identification mark deemed that a person was to be completely and perfectly compatible with whoever it was that they shared the unique speck with.

How in the absolute _world_ could a mark determine a person's soulmate?

A mark shouldn't be given the power to make or break a relationship, as he'd reasoned out at the ripe age of eleven years old, where he thought he'd accumulated all the vast knowledge and wisdom that the world had to offer him. He'd gone on to support his point with the fact that the parents of his best mate Sirius— who was nowhere near as serious as his name— had thought that they were meant to be, yet all they could ever express towards each other was contempt and pure hatred.

'Soulmates' were supposed to be in _love, _not in hate. It was obvious that they'd misidentified their marks to be more than they actually were.

He'd done his research, and he'd learned that freckles— just _one _of the kinds of marks that made a soulmate— became triggered from exposure to sunlight. It meant that there was a scientific reasoning behind all of it, he'd thought, and not because of some obviously utterly-made up crap that was found in practically every single fairy tale that was told to nearly every child in an effort to get their hopes up, only for them to end up getting crushed by reality.

Besides, his prepubescent self never had any reason to believe in the concept of soulmates, especially when such an idea became an object of ridicule in the eyes of many of his pupils at the time, who had, for example, taken advantage of the opportunity to draw matching freckles on themselves and jokingly call the other their soulmate. He'd be an absolute liar if he said that he never partook in such a thing, having done so on few occasions with Sirius. They'd done quite a convincing job at that as well, and he wouldn't be surprised if people still thought that he was involved in a relationship with his best mate, who he held absolutely _no _romantic feelings towards.

Soulmates couldn't be real. They _couldn't _be.

Naturally, James had eventually come to learning the location of each and every one of his four little marks that he'd prided himself on having.

It made him sound a bit like a hypocrite, but he swore he'd done it just to be ironic more than anything else, because _he _surely hadn't believed that the universe cared enough to make two people perfect enough to fit in the other's mold, just as puzzles were supposed to click together. To him, it had seemed that the universe spewed out people at random, as if someone had deliberately mixed together puzzle pieces from completely different sets. It should be impossible for two pieces to fit, not unless one forced them to fit.

He was not forcing _any _relationships to come about.

He wanted them to happen smoothly, like a boat drifting atop a gentle lake.

According to scientific evidence, the physical signs of seeing a person didn't at all account for whether or not they were one's soulmate, because a erratic heart or sweaty hands were only signs for _wanting _them to be a soulmate. It was still completely possible to fall for someone who _wasn't _one's soulmate.

It just seemed _impossible _to have a lasting relationship with someone who wasn't your soulmate. No, it _was _impossible, as official statistics have proven, no matter how much effort two people put into keeping their relationship intact.

Also— _also— _he found it absolutely _unfathomable _how a relationship could work simply from realising that the other party had a matching freckle. An "_Oh look, we've both got a freckle located exactly four and a half centimetres below our wrists and two and three-quarters of a centimetre to the left. We _must _be soulmates because that's how the bloody system works, apparently" _was far too impractical to determine whether or not one should spend an entire lifetime with someone else. What ever happened to just finding someone with matching interests and knowing what was best for the other?

It sounds nearly impossible that in a world defined by overpopulation, making it so that among the sea of people walking the earth, there was only` one person who shared one particular little freckle with you.

It _had _to be impossible.

His younger version of himself _had _to be all-knowing and wise in this sort of stuff, these matters that he as a kid had no experience with.

Now though…

Well, he'd like a soulmate right about now, if that wasn't too much, please and thank you.

Upon entering his teen years, when he'd somehow come to recognising the appeal of falling in love with someone else, he'd begun to fall in love with the idea of love itself, and this in turn reversed the previous notions that he'd held against the concept of soulmates. Failed relationship after failed relationship, he'd learned that perhaps it wasn't _too _far-fetched that there would be one person who was made for loving every single inch of him. A relationship only had to work _once, _didn't it?

He'd come into a good— a loosely-used term here— amount of girls who'd taken a fancy to him, only to be struck with disappointment when they learned that they didn't share any of their freckles with him, and it made him feel a bit irritated at the fact that they'd checked compatibilities with a tiny little speck of dark brown on his skin. It was nearly as bad as depending solely on zodiac signs to be with someone.

It wasn't as if he had been running about desperately seeking the one person who matched him, and in theory, it didn't seem _that _hard, especially when there were four places that the mark could have been in, and _especially _when he'd thought he'd already found his soulmate. He _must _have found his soulmate, because there was quite literally no other word that matched up to describing the likes of Lily Evans, who had unexpectedly come into his life, dropping a seed into the depths of his heart and letting a bright red rose bloom within.

Lily Evans.

Everything _about _her was lovely.

There was no need to check her soulmate marks— 'soulmarks' as she'd liked to call them, saying that the name had an easy tone to it— because he'd already had the feeling that her very last mark would be the very same one he had on his stomach. It was most especially _not _because he'd essentially be setting himself up for disappointment when he found that they _weren't _soulmates, as the malicious being in the very back of his brain liked to remind him.

He'd wracked up the nerves to ask her out on a proper date a few months ago, and he swore that when the simplest 'yes' fell from her lips, the birds began singing their lovely tune just a bit more louder, and the sun began shining down onto them even more than it had already been. It _must _have meant that the universe foresaw them together. He didn't need any soulmarks to tell him so.

It'd become routine for him to meet her after her classes were over, and he'd memorised the directions to her classes like he'd done with the features of her face. He made it to the door just exactly a second before the class had been dismissed, and he prided himself on the fact that he'd made such trips enough times to perfect his timing. She'd been walking out with Mary, and upon spotting him, her face lit up, shining brighter than any sun he could ever see. She gave her friend a few parting words before she ran up to him. "Your timing really gets better each time."

He absolutely revelled in the fact that she noticed, and he reached over, holding her hand in his and swinging them back and forth as they began their walk together. "Swear you get prettier each time. I didn't think that was possible."

"You get _flirtier _each time."

"I reckon we'd both agree that you'd rather a flirty boyfriend than an arse who never cares to show affection to his girlfriend."

She hummed in agreement. "It's only understandable that the vast majority of the population prefers to _not _be subjected to unnecessary hostility."

"That's _precisely _why I remind you of how breathtakingly gorgeous you are."

"And not actually because you feel that way?"

"You know _too _well how pretty you are."

"_You're _pretty."

"Nah."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Handsome?"

"You're not even trying," he teased her, and she scoffed at him, dropping her hand from his. It wasn't long until she twined their fingers back together again, to which he felt his lips growing at the corners triumphantly.

"You're being awfully humble. Are you sure you're really who you say you are? Quick, what colour were my socks when we first met?"

"You just hadn't found the right word, was all," he replied, and with a dramatic pause, he added, "I'm _hot. _And trick question, you weren't _wearing _socks, not unless you wanted to burn up in the heat."

He gauged her reaction, watching a mixture of exasperation and amusement swirling in the greens of her eyes, and in the end, she broke out into another one of her dazzling smiles, the ones that seemed to exist to solely blind him. "And you couldn't find it in yourself to accept my other compliments?"

"You should know more than anyone else that you could literally call me a pile of shit and I'd be just as thankful as if you told me I'd hung the moon."

"_You _should know more than anyone else that I would literally _never _call you a 'pile of shit.' You've mistaken me for someone else. The last time I checked, I wasn't named after a constellation."

"I'll bloody _make _a constellation for you," he sighed dramatically, "It's only a shame that we live in a place where we can't see the stars."

"Geography hasn't stopped you before."

"You're right, but _pollution_ has. Come over sometime? We could cuddle, and I'll get one of those lights that project stars onto the ceiling so that I could find a constellation to name after you."

"By 'sometime', I'm going to assume that you mean right now."

"I like the way you think," he responded, and without helping it, he reached down to press a quick kiss to her lips, to which she made a small sound of pleasant surprise. The electricity that seemed to exist in his heart seemed to crackle, sending an array of jolts at the sensation of her soft lips against his, even if it was short-lasted, like a flower in bloom for only one season of the year.

The palpatitations of his heart were just symbol of the fact that they _had _to be soulmates. There was no other explanation for how rapidly it was beating.

They'd made it outside of the building now, having taken their time in walking out, and so the campus was practically empty, save for the few people rushing past them to get out of the winter coldness. Her cheeks were red from the air nipping at their skin, or perhaps it was from his sudden acts of affection, but whichever it was, it made her look dead pretty, which wasn't even anything new.

The setting was lined with rows of flowers that were struggling to get their last breath of life before the brutality of winter inevitably caught up to them, swept them away into a pile of nothingness until the next generation came to replace them, only for that bunch to get replaced when the next battle with winter drew by. Before he met her, he would have thought the process was depressing, but because of the way she saw life with so much optimism, _he _now thought the way that flowers lived and died was beautiful.

It goes to show just how much she'd changed him for the better.

It meant that they _had _to be soulmates. They couldn't be anything less.

Their matching marks that they'd definitely have would only continue to give them that air of complete certainty. He already _was _confident that she was his soulmate.

He hadn't realised that he'd stopped in his steps, too busy stopping to admire her, and he knew this scenario all too well, that this one innocent little peck would escalate into something much worse— or better, depending on how he was looking at it— if he didn't find it in himself to refrain from doing any more before they both caught a cold.

A cold?

_Fuck, _he was an idiot.

They'd made it outside for a while now, and he was far too busy talking to her that he hadn't completely registered that he was _cold, _which meant that _she _had to be cold as well. He quickly shrugged off his outermost coat and secured it around her, the size engulfing her and the bottom of it stopping at her knees. "Sorry for letting you freeze, love."

She threw it off of her person as fast as he'd taken it off. "James Potter, you are absolutely _hilarious _if you think I'm going to let you freeze on your own accord."

"And _you're _absolutely hilarious if you think that I'd rather it be you than me when it comes to dying in the cold." She reached up to feel the fabric of his sweater, and her eyes softened, most likely because of how thin it was. "You can't tell me that you're not cold right now."

"I _can _and I _will."_

"Your priorities are honestly messed up," she said, and she attempted to throw it back onto him. They must have looked quite the sight to any onlooker, fighting over who should wear the coat.

"Are they really _that _messed up if you're at the very top of the list?"

"They _are, _because nowhere does it say that adhering to priorities means that you've got to suffer to put others above yourself."

He sighed dramatically, and he resigned to slinging his coat back on him, though not before pulling her close to him so that she was flush against his side, her long red hair clinging to the fabric of his coat. He immediately felt warmth overtaking him just from their contact, and it was even more enhanced when he felt her snuggling up against his arm. They began walking again. "I let you win this time."

"And every other time?"

He opened his mouth to protest but quickly clamped it shut, not able to spontaneously recall a single moment where he'd defeated her in any battle of wit. He _knew _he'd bested her before, but now, he couldn't seem to remember the exact time that it had happened. "You're very lucky that you've got a generous boyfriend."

"Of course. Generosity's been the main thing you've been giving me since we've walked out of the building," she smiled.

"If generosity is a euphemism for a kiss, sure."

The curve of her lips caused her cheeks to appear more puffed out, and she shivered slightly. She watched from the corner of her eye as he opened his mouth to vocalise her action. "Don't you _dare _take your coat off, James Potter."

"I'll leave it on forever, yeah?"

"If it means that you won't freeze out in the cold, then that's completely fine with me."

"You know that's far too impractical."

"Oh?"

"Yeah," he nodded, and he flashed her a slight grin, "We both know how it drives you wild seeing me _without _that coat. Interpret that in every single way you can think of."

"I don't suppose I'll be seeing that sight anytime soon. We'll be too busy looking at the stars."

"_You'll _be too busy doing that. I'll be looking at a far more spectacular sight."

"In the dark?"

"The stars will give enough light," he joked, and he saw her roll her eyes at him, but it didn't at all make her pull away from his embrace. "And if we _are _going to get these lights—"

"We are."

He nodded, unable to fight the smile on his face. "We need to order some of them first, so I reckon we'll have to postpone a night under the stars for another time."

"But I can still come over to your place."

"I wouldn't want anything else."

She flashed him one of the many smiles that she reserved solely for him, the ones where she was so blatantly happy at his words but didn't want to show _too _much of her enthusiasm, and so the end result was a curve of her lips that revealed just the slightest bit of teeth, with the smile still reaching her eyes. He'd like to say that it made her about a million times more gorgeous, but the fact of the matter was that _every _little thing that she did seemed to enhance her beauty, with the plus fact that 'gorgeous' just didn't completely capture her in all of her essence.

Gorgeous was only an understatement for her.

On the way, they passed some stores, most of which had been closed out of fear for the oncoming snow that was threatening to overcome the city, though it didn't stop him from noticing the manner in which her eyes had caught on to one of the necklaces put on the window display. She wasn't at all the type to ask him for any sort of material item because she found it completely against her morals to use his wealth for her own benefit. There was also the fact that, as she'd once explained in a complex fashion, it wouldn't truly come out of his heart if she up and told him that she wanted something, as it would only seem as if he'd gotten it for her solely because she'd asked.

Perhaps he should get it for her sometime.

After all, it wasn't as if she was going to completely cast it aside like it was a piece of rubbish. The piece of silver would definitely be met with dismissal, but he knew that she'd secretly be appreciative for the gesture.

He didn't entertain that thought any longer though, and he instead relished in the soft crunching of the snow and the warmth of her body beside him.

There was honestly nothing better.

* * *

"Uno!" he'd announced as they eased into their first Uno game for the afternoon, the boxes of the other games that they'd played scattered in a mess atop his bed. There were some chess pieces thrown haphazardly about and intermingling with Monopoly money as they came to rest somewhere near Lily's legs.

"You _can't _call Uno on yourself," she laughed.

"Why not? In this round, it's James versus James versus Lily versus Lily. We're all pitted against ourselves and each other. Trust _no _one."

That had indeed been the truth, as the game couldn't really function with only two players, and so they'd decided to both play two hands each. They, as it seemed, hadn't managed to work out the rules of the game, and so they'd ended up swapping cards between their two hands.

Sirius, had he been introduced to this dual game of Uno, would have slowly snuck his cards into the discarded cards pile when he thought that James wasn't looking, and then he'd accuse him of cheating if James were to speak his observations. It was, apparently, in Sirius's nature to be as much of an arse as he could without stepping _too _far over an invisible line that most rational people knew not to cross, James included.

"Doesn't that just make it worse for you?"

"You'd have called it anyway."

"You could have _given _yourself another card from your other hand."

He waved it off. "I appreciate the tips and all, but in a game without any set rules, I'm afraid they don't matter much."

"That's an overstatement. You're just disregarding all the rules of Uno now."

"Yeah? Go Fish."

He felt his smile widening like the idiot that he felt that he was, because no one should be able to be smiling so hard from just the sight of someone rolling their eyes at him, which was _precisely _what Lily was doing now. "Will you somehow be turning this into a game of Scrabble now?"

"Do you think we could do that?"

"Considering the fact that these cards are literally coloured cards with _numbers _on them, no, I don't think so."

"You're not thinking outside of the box, which is very uncharacteristic of you. Look," he started, and he held out the cards in his left hand so that she could see them, "This clearly spells out 'confabulate.'"

"Oh, of course, how could I not realise? When I look at my hand, I so clearly see one word. _Uno."_

Despite them not having played a proper round since the one word had fallen from his lips, she still placed a random card down onto the pile of discarded cards so that there was only one in her hand, and he felt himself smiling at her actions, because there was quite possibly no one else who would ever play along with his shenanigans like she had. There was quite possibly no one else who _could _ever play along or was an equal in wit— not even an equal to him, having bested him when it came to practically every one of their conversations chock-full of banter.

These moments, seeming so small and insignificant when it came to the activity matter, seemed as if they were bright little fireflies lighting up the path to an idea that had been waiting on the other end the entire time, as if the path was absolutely the only way to the _only_ idea that could ever be true. He'd been entertaining that thought for a while, been entertaining that _feeling _for a while, and the more fuel he gave it, the more he knew that it absolutely _had _to be true.

There was no possible way that he could ever be in love with anyone other than his soulmate, and that exactly was what James was— absolutely, positively in _love. _He was swimming in an ocean of affection towards the redhead, the only problem being that he was afraid that if he remained in the middle of the mysteriously terrifying body, he'd somehow drown in the waves of all that he felt towards her. The thing was, though, he didn't _have _to be so fearful, because she was his boat, ready to keep him afloat in the case that he _might _drown.

It was scary how much he felt for her and how big of a reaction she'd drawn from him simply from saying one tiny little harmless word, but it was the _person _who had made it all the better. It was _her._

"Have you any idea what game we should play next?" he asked her, and her eyes, which had been focused on the cards as she put them all together in one neat little stack, moved upwards to make eye contact with him. He had _no _idea how he could ever get over just how _green _they were. He could never get over _her _in general.

She nodded. "It's my absolute favourite game: cleaning this mess up."

"I don't like your game already."

"Then, do you recommend anything better?"

"'Course. I'm the most fun person you'll ever meet in your life."

"Unfortunately, I feel less than inclined to say that title belongs to my dear sister."

"Petunia doesn't count," he said, waving it off, "She's on a completely different spectrum when it comes to comedic genius."

She smiled at his response. "So, your game?"

"Ah, right," he replied, and he gingerly took the cards from her hands, swiftly sliding them back into their box before carelessly throwing the deck onto his nightstand, a soft thud filling the air as the pack landed. He secured his arms around her waist, pulling her close to him, and he felt his heart speeding up at the manner in which she was looking at him, as if there were stars shining in his eyes that she could connect together to make her own constellation.

If she connected the dots together, he wondered what she would see. Perhaps it'd be poor old Icarus, who fell to his doom after flying too close to the sun, or maybe it'd be a simple cat, to which Sirius would have taken deep offence against, seeing as cats were naturally the enemies of dogs. It didn't seem to matter what the figure would be though, because his thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she smiled sweetly at him, and she reached up to cup his face between her hands.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked her, feeling his breath catching in his throat because he never, even after all of the time he'd spent in a relationship with her, learned to get over how every intimate moment of theirs seemed to be just as slow as their very first moment.

And it wasn't even intimate in the passionate love-making way, because they'd been holding that off until he felt that it was absolutely entirely certain that they were soulmates, and the action would finally lead up to the moments that verified that they _did _share the sacred mark. There was no rush, not when they had all the time in the world.

Her lip twitched upwards as she answered with, "Just how _hot_ you are."

"You got the word right this time." He reached his hand up to one of hers, intertwining them as he marvelled at how perfectly they seemed to fit together. "May I?"

"You can kiss me _any _time, honestly."

He fought the goofy smile threatening to overcome his face, and so he bent his head forward so that his forehead was against hers. "Yeah?"

"I've just said it, didn't I?"

"Just in case you changed your mind," he teased, and he nudged her chin upwards before he let his lips fall into contact with hers, stars filling his vision as his eyes flew closed. There weren't many sensations that were better than this feeling right here, where his love for her was overwhelmingly taking his senses and rendering him weak to the heart, not able to fully fathom _just _how much he felt for her.

He tasted the frosting on her lips from earlier when they'd eaten cookies, and he was sure that she could taste the same on _his _lips, but the act itself seemed to be tremendously sweeter than anything they could ever eat. There was just something so alluring about kissing Lily Evans, something that pulled his heart right into her hands as she held the precious organ dearly to herself. His heart was in safe, precious hands.

Everything that they were doing— every breath that he was breathing, every fleeting moment where their hands touched as they memorised every inch of the other— only served to reaffirm that he was in love with her. _So _in love with her, to the point that he could practically feel his affections permeating through the open air, all too ready to transfer its way over to her.

He'd almost felt the words slipping from his lips, but such words would only lead them down a path that he didn't want to take quite just yet, because he was still absolutely _terrified _by his feelings for her. He didn't want to think about the fact that there was a possibility that they could be anything _but _the cursed word that began with the letter _s._

Her hands had found their way to his hair, and he revelled in how nice it felt as he pulled her closer to him so that they were chest-to-chest. They pulled apart momentarily to catch a breath, and in that moment, both of their eyes flew open, to which both of them found it difficult to refrain from beaming at the other. It merely served to reassure him that she felt equally as strongly as he felt for her.

He kept the sight of her in his mind as he felt her lips crashing over his once again, and he felt heat sweeping over him, knowing that this kiss was far more different than the first one they'd share, but he wasn't going to complain.

He _loved _all of their kisses.

Loved their relationship, loved _her._

He wasn't sure what it was that made this time more memorable than the others or why it was that in this very instance, his newly-found epiphany was hitting him in such a manner, but he knew that with every second that he spent with her, he'd fall deeper in love with her.

At one point, at some unknown time— whether it be seconds or minutes later— he found himself flipping them so that he was hovering over her, and the sudden shift in weight on the bed led to the sounds of various game pieces falling to the ground. Idealistically, he'd have rather that he found the ability to ignore the sounds and continue on, but the sounds were so abrupt and such a contrast compared to the sounds that _they _had been making that it was hard to refrain from bursting into laughter.

"I'm sorry, love," he told her when they'd calmed down, and he couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out from his lips after, "There goes the romantic bit. Maybe we _should _have cleaned up first."

Her mouth curved upwards at him, but not before she pulled him down to press one last little kiss on his lips. "That'd be entirely too unrealistic of me to expect that we're always going to be snogging. I like every other aspect of you as well."

"That makes two of us, I'd say."

She made a sound of open exasperation. "Even the _cocky _part of you."

"You give me that extra ego boost. Didn't you tell me I was 'hot' a while ago?"

"Was that not what you wanted me to call you?"

"Now it sounds like I'm just begging you for compliments."

"There's no need to beg. I'll give them to you on your own accord."

"Ah, don't do that, or I'll feel obligated to return your compliments, and then they wouldn't sound insincere. I'd essentially be downplaying my egoism. You look stunning by the way."

She sat up from the bed, snorting lightly. "Stunning? My hair probably looks a mess."

His eyes flickered over to her red strands, and some of it was sticking up in some places that they probably shouldn't have been because he'd gotten a bit too handsy, but it didn't at all detract from her beauty. "What's your point? You still look stunning. I _love _your personality."

"If you hadn't added that last bit, I'd be scoffing right now."

"Which is _precisely _why I added it, not to mention the fact that I, again, _love _your personality."

She merely stared at him before her firm resolve broke, and she finally said, "I suppose cleaning can wait, can it?"

"It can _always _wait," he affirmed with a smile, and the next thing that he knew was that they were kissing once again.

* * *

The sunlight drifted in through the windows as they sky gave rise to another day that James hoped had much in store for him.

He was aware of how warm he felt, because on every other day of the harsh winter, he'd have woken up cold; the heater had a tendency to bring far too much heat than his body could handle, and so he'd rather wake up too cold than too hot.

The sight of his room was a complete blur, his lack of glasses rendering him nearly blind, but it wasn't too hard for him to realise the situation at once, and when turning his head, he noted the redhead pressed up against him as she continued sleeping blissfully. She'd stayed the night, as they'd gotten too escalated with _certain _things that they hadn't noticed how quick time was slipping from their hands, and he didn't want her venturing out into the complete darkness when there were so many terrifying people who could have just been right around the corner.

The least he wanted was her to be accosted by the likes of the Salvation Army, especially during the month of December.

It was, in all honesty, a poor excuse to get her to stay the night, because he knew just how competent she was of defending herself. Then again though, if she made no protest to staying, then how poorly _could _that excuse have actually been?

They hadn't done anything more than kissing, and then they had a _smashing _time preparing dinner together, so he deemed the night wonderfully perfect, especially when he got to end it with her laying in his arms. He'd given her some of his clothes to change into, knowing that it would have made _anybody _uncomfortable at the thought of wearing two layers of both jeans _and _leggings to sleep.

He couldn't stop his mind from thinking that this would perhaps be what he would see every morning in a few years from now, and his heart let out a slew of emotions when he came to acknowledge that thought. He knew that if Sirius had access to his most vulnerable thoughts and feelings— and, in a sense, his mate _did, _seeing as James eventually came to tell him at least an idea of all of his heart's contents— he'd be subjected to much teasing, but that had been the norm for years since he'd discovered the idea of love and came to nourish it.

He leaned over her to press a light, airy kiss to her forehead, and, catching the sight of the small freckle usually concealed by her hair and one that she had on the back of her neck, he felt compelled to kiss that as well. It wasn't _the _mark, couldn't be, because he only had four freckles— one on his left wrist, two on his right arm, one falling below his left eye, and one last one on his abdomen— but he still felt some sort of pull towards it, as if it was a magnet of some sort.

The mark on his abdomen surely had to be _the_ mark, because the other three marks of his just weren't present on her. He'd spent far too much time memorising the features of her face, and the only freckles featured were the ones dotting the top of her nose, though it was unanimously agreed by all people that such freckles were _not _soulmarks. Her arms had freckles on the complete opposite end of where James's freckles were, and so it left the one freckle he had left that he depended on to further validate their relationship— as if their relationship even _needed_ any more validation.

She unceremoniously rolled over so that she was facing him, and it was then that he was blown away by how utterly beautiful she was, and even in her sleep, there was a softness to her face that was nearly a reflection of how kind she was.

If he had all the time in the world, he'd be able to count every single one of the pretty little freckles decorating her nose, and in fact, he'd nearly begun counting them— having made his way up to the twelfth freckle— when he felt her stirring beside him. When her eyes flew open, he was greeted with the sight of every single tint and shade of green, and he was sure that if he looked deeply enough, he'd be able to find a colour that was yet to have been invented.

She wiped the sleep from her eyes and yawned, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. "Good morning. Have you been staring?"

"'Morning," he smiled, "I can't help but focus on the artwork, you know."

"In different circumstances, that'd be a bit creepy."

"And in this circumstance?"

"Embarrassing," she answered, stretching lightly, "My hair is _not _at its best right now."

"I, for one, _love _your hair, messy or not. You put up with my hair, don't you?"

"The difference between us is that your hair makes you a million times more attractive."

"I am prone to disagree. Your hair looks cute."

"Messy hair is _not _a look for me. For _you, _on the other hand… I just, please keep it at this length?"

"Wasn't planning on changing it," he smiled, "And I, again, reiterate my point that I love your hair."

Though her hair certainly wasn't fanned out on the pillow like it was always described and portrayed in the movies, he still found that somehow, the manner in which her hair was sticking up in some places that they probably weren't supposed to only helped to make his heart fall soft. He wanted _these _moments to be included in a life with her and was completely prepared for all of the hardships and hurdles headed their way, even if they were reduced to something as trivial as the subject of hair.

The problem was that he didn't _know _what hurdles were coming in their direction, nor did he know how soon they could catch up to him.

It didn't matter for now, though, and so because of his tendency to focus on the present, he didn't at all feel his ease waver at all.

Perhaps he should have, but breakfast, at that very time and place, seemed _much _more important than any silly fear about their future.

* * *

It wasn't until nearly two weeks afterwards that the day, most definitely, was to be marked as a significant milestone in James and LIly's relationship.

His feelings had caught up to him, threatening to burst with every breath that they shared in the closeness and comfort of each other. He'd contained them, waiting until he was completely, one hundred percent sure that she felt the same way that he felt towards her, but there was honestly no need to for him to have ever held them in, because she'd assured him of her own feelings through her actions.

Whether it was from the way she ensured that he was completely fine in any aspect or just listened to the manner in which he tended to ramble about the things that he found himself passionate about— he'd once joked to her that he was passionate about _her _and that they were all disguised efforts to subtly talk about her _to _her— it didn't matter. Assurance was assurance, and she'd given him more than enough of it to keep him at ease.

He wasn't even trying to sound dramatic, but he swore that he couldn't even remember how life had been like _before _he had met her, and all that he knew was that he definitely was _not _as happy as she made him. It was strange, he mused, that just the _thought _of her and all of the positivity that she brought with every single one of her steps made mirth bubble up within himself.

If he could pour all of his love for her as the form of rain so as to bless every single person on the earth, he was sure that it would bring showers that would last for centuries onward, and even then, that _still _wasn't enough. It wasn't even _close _to enough_._

Ironically enough, the day that the three little words had fallen from his lips was a day in which the rain had decided to come down upon the earth, as if it was willing to demonstrate how much love James held for Lily.

He'd walked her to his home, of course, though 'walking' wasn't the most fitting word to use, because it was far too cold to be casually walking through the streets of London, especially when the dark grey clouds looming over them were threatening to spill if they didn't make it to their destination quick enough. They'd made it in _just _enough time, and the clouds seemed to have waited for them to find cover before releasing every single bit of its contents in a downpour over the surfaces of the world.

"You wet?" he asked her as soon as they made it inside, and she shook her head, smiling softly at him.

"And you?"

"Dryer than I could ever be when I'm wet."

"That was a _horrible _comparison."

"It got my point across, so I'd say it was _perfect."_

"_You're _perfect," she replied, and there was no trace of sarcasm in her tone, which only helped to further assure him of her feelings for him.

He threw his coat down onto the nearby couch and looked at her— _really _looked at her— as he smiled at her. "I know. Just the knowledge of that makes it one of my leading flaws, sadly."

He'd expected her to come up with some ingenious bout of wit to respond to his words, something that would make him would to match up to her, but instead, the words that she'd let fall from her lips, which were the very same words that were crafted by an ancient linguist who knew the power of the combination of words and matters of the heart. "I love you," she said sincerely, earnestly, and with a trace of shyness that was overcome by her confidence in the utterance of such words.

He felt his breath hitch in his throat at her confession, because out of anything she could have said, she said the only phrase that could make him feel weak to his knees while simultaneously believing that he could do just about anything. "Do you— really?"

She nodded, and her smile grew to reveal her teeth. "I don't see why there's any reason to doubt that. I've been painfully obvious about it."

Her confirmation sent his heart whirling, flying, _soaring _with the birds as it made its ascent into a state of inconceivable mirth, and the next thing that he knew was just how _lovely _she felt against him, his arms secured around her waist and his lips on hers. "I love you _so _much," he told her, but there was truly no need, not when his actions were more than telling of his emotions.

They'd kissed far more times than any of his fingers could count, but somehow, when such precious words were uttered into the open air for the entire world to take in, the sensations that came with such intimacy were only elevated. He'd known for the longest time that he was in love with her, so much to the point that he could feel it glowing within his bones, sparkling in his eyes, _pounding _with every thud of his heart.

There was only so much love that a person could feel, but with Lily Evans, it seemed that his love for her had no limit, could only grow stronger with each breath that he took and each step that he'd take.

Their kiss was slow, so tantalising, and yet he still couldn't find it in his willpower to still the franticness of his heart, which had been moving so quickly that he wouldn't at all be surprised if it had somehow managed to work its way out of his body to be with her.

His fingers drifted up to her hair, tucking it behind her ears so as to keep it out of her face, and he pulled away momentarily to keep the image of her, what with the way her lips were slightly parted and her eyes closed so as to savour the feeling. It didn't help that she looked so utterly blissful in his arms, and his hand cupped her chin gently, running soft circles on them before he kissed her once again.

She let out a sigh of content, which was, in all honesty, the sweetest of all sounds that he could ever be graced to ever hear. He'd take it over any of the most loveliest of tunes that an orchestra could ever offer him, though Lily Evans was an orchestra herself, every single little part of her contributing greatly to the beauty that graced every single one of his senses every single day of his life.

He didn't know when it had happened or even who had initiated it, but the next thing he knew was that he was pressing lines of soft little kisses all around her, as if he was laying out seeds in a garden that would surely bloom into a field of flowers. His lips fell against the freckle on her neck, finding something so irresistibly alluring about that freckle, before moving right back over her lips, which seemed to have been etched into a permanent smile.

He knew, that in this moment, he'd learn the truth about _just _how perfect they were for one another, the one final piece to the puzzle that they'd been putting together for the longest of times, but there was no rush. Why _should _there be a rush, when he knew that he'd have all the time in the world to learn everything there was to know about one another?

Her fingers hooked themselves beneath his shirt, nudging it off of him, and the open air quickly came to unleash its wrath upon his chest, and the coldness that came from the touch of her fingers didn't seem to help. The manner in which her fingers traced his skin, as if he was a map of an exotic, unexplored world, made it seem like she would leave behind a mark that would last for days, weeks, _months. _He reached over to take her hands in his, squeezing them gently so as to warm them, and she smiled softly at the small act.

Her hands ultimately found their way back to his cheeks, and she pulled herself closer to him so as to make her breath ghost over his lips before enclosing over them once again.

He couldn't put into exact words _just _how much he felt for her now at the moment, but he knew that there _had _to be a reason why every single bit of his love for her seemed to encompass him like a blanket, holding him so tightly that he'd nearly forget to breath. When he'd remembered— inhale and exhale— each breath only seemed to serve as a reminder that she was there beside him, in any given moment of the day.

There was a reason why she was living in his heart.

Every second that he'd spent with her seemed to lead up to this very instance— this moment of truth— and he knew that when he pulled her shirt off, he'd know the very reason for as to why she seemed to overtake every single one of his senses.

The rain was pattering down onto the window just as loudly as it had been since they'd entered his flat, and yet there was something so soothingly beautiful about the added effect that it had on him. It should have been a sound that was far too intruding than he'd wanted to, but the fact of the matter was that he was only vaguely aware of the sound because he was far too focused on _her _to even remotely care. It added to the naturalness of it all.

His fingers delicately held the fabric of her shirt in his hand, tugging it upwards with just the slightest of motion as he focused more on the softness of her lips rather than the erratic movements of his heart. When her shirt came off, he opened his eyes slowly, and he was unable to help his eyes from flickering down from her chest to her stomach, because it was there; it _had _to be there, and—

He felt every last bit of his soul fall apart and the breath that he'd begun to take fall short, and no no _no. _This couldn't be it. This couldn't—

Where was the mark?

Where was the dark little freckle that he'd placed so much of his hope into?

He felt chills running down his spine, because there was supposed to be a mark that matched his own on her stomach, yet there was absolutely nothing on the wide expanse of exposed skin that could have surely been the mark. She'd noticed the sudden shift in atmosphere immediately; how could she not, when just a moment ago, he was kissing her with all of the love that he could have given her?

"James—"

"You— you don't have it?" He ignored the manner in which his voice cracked near the end of his words, but she did not, her eyes beginning to lose the mirth that he'd been so eager to give her.

"Sorry?"

"The soulmark. I— I thought you'd have one on your stomach like I do, because that's the only mark I've got left that doesn't—"

He stopped himself, unable to finish the thought, because he still couldn't fully process the turn in events, and the rain suddenly seemed to be ten times louder than it had harder been, as if it was now striking his heart rather than just the outside world. He couldn't bear to even look her in the eye, but he knew her enough that she would be quick to catch on to the implications of his words. If he were to look into the swirling depths of her eyes, he'd undoubtedly see emotions that reflected his own, and he couldn't bring himself to see such a sight.

"You're not saying what I think you're saying."

"It's not there."

Her eyes, usually so bright and glowing, suddenly grew dim, and the firm grip that she had on him loosened. "This is a trick, isn't it? You've _got _to have it. _We've _got to be—"

He shook his head at her. "I've only got four." He didn't need to elaborate on where they were, because he had often found her fingers skimming over them, but this last one, this _stupid _mark that was supposed to be theirs to share, was left neglected. He didn't _want _it to be there if she didn't have one to match.

He willed himself to look at her, because she deserved that much, but it only left him regret on his part. Of _course _there was still a flicker of hope in her eyes, but he knew that soon, even _that _would die out like the very last spark of a candle, and it hurt him even more at the knowledge that it would ultimately be _him _that blew that spark out.

Her eyes were casted downwards, and heard her shudder deeply, trying her utmost hardest to keep calm. "There's got to— We can make it work."

He swallowed deeply, and even found that difficult to do. He shook his head at her. "How?"

"Isn't our love enough? We can still try."

The truth was that he _wanted _to give their relationship a try, but just the _knowledge _that they weren't actually meant to be, no matter how much they wanted to believe the opposite, would weigh them down. No matter _how _much he loved— loves— her, it wouldn't be enough to conquer the fact that they were not truly made for one another. Just the thought that they weren't each others' other halves would cause complications that would slowly lead to arguments that could only end in more miserable to surround both of them. "Relationships between non-soulmates are never successful, Lily."

"_Please _don't say that." She sniffled loudly, and he'd have rather died a thousand deaths than to hear the sound of her in pain. "James, please. I don't _care. _I _won't _leave you."

"Lily, we can't—"

"We _can," _she assured him, and she took his hands in hers, "Can't you see that I don't _care _about a mark? I love you. James, I love you. _Please—_"

"Lily," he cut her off painfully, and something flashed in her eyes before disappearing. "_Please _don't make this harder than it already is."

"You're not even going to _try?"_

He didn't answer her.

He knew how stubborn of a person she was, and to watch the fight in her eyes die out as quickly as they were seemed to twist his heart and tug at it from every single direction. Her actions were futile, and she was well aware of it. She breathed in deeply, unable to help the shudders that rang out through her body, and she tore her hands out of his, bringing them up to his chest instead as they lightly pounded against him. "I _hate _you, James Potter. I hate you. Hate you, hate you, _hate _the fact that you've made me so bloody in love with you, and—"

He leaned down, cutting her off effectively as his lips closed against hers for what he knew would be the last time, and the happiness that they were supposed to feel for their first time was instead something completely different. He was far too focused on the overwhelming taste of the saltiness of her tears, too focused on the sobs escaping her lips to feel anything _but _the pleasure he should have been feeling.

She didn't draw away, though he hadn't expected her to. He knew that she was far from hating him, and when her sharp words were reduced to nothing but a fit of cries, there was nothing that he could do but relieve the pain with soft kisses.

He shouldn't be allowed to be able to continue on with her, and yet she made no resistance when his fingers hooked around the last bits of garment separating their skin from meeting. He trained his eyes on her chest, and, though he felt far too undeserving of such a sight, he forced himself to bring his lips to her curves, pressing light kisses against her skin.

He was supposed to be appreciating every inch of her beauty, not savouring it because it would be the last and only time that he would ever see it. He wasn't prepared to leave her, wasn't prepared to live a life without _her _in it. This act was perhaps the _only _way that he could properly love her goodbye, the _only _way he could properly show her how much he loved her.

The fact of the matter was that he wasn't her soulmate, and she wasn't his. It was a truth that he'd have to face, and no glue could hold their relationship together no matter how hard they tried.

He touched every inch of her, so as to hopefully leave a mark on every single part of her, even if just to compensate for the fact that she would never have _the _mark that he so desperately wished that she had. If _they _couldn't last forever, perhaps the marks left in his name could.

In the moments that there was nothing physical separating their bodies from one another, he couldn't help but dwell on how his first time was supposed to be _joyful, _not near their breaking point.

But when it had finally come down to that point, where their physical and emotional connections were supposed to have been at their utmost highest, the pain seemed to outweigh any pleasure that he was supposed to feel.

* * *

find me on tumblr lovesickjily so we can scream over how much of an idiot james is lol


	2. the time we promised would last forever

part 2/3 ahh

* * *

With each mark on the calendar that signified a new day, James swore he was getting better, little and little by the day, by the weeks, months, and now, it seems, by the year.

The confidence in his strides had slowly returned, he could actually feel himself laughing on his own accord now, and he thought that he'd finally— _finally— _found his soulmate after having sat in a darkness that was far too overwhelming to make him see the better aspects of life.

Eleanor Green seemed to have the ability to dissipate his concerns until they were nearly an air of complete nothingness, whether it was through her patience to let him speak his mind until everything was let out into the open air, or just from giving him reassurance that life _did _indeed have so much more in store for him than he thought. He had remembered when he'd first expressed any form of negativity towards her, he'd nearly expected her to retort with a sharp whip of wit, only to remember that it wasn't in her character to say such a thing.

It was in those small moments that he chastised himself for comparing two completely different people, because as soon as he thought he'd gotten over _her— _having been able to go for days without thinking about her— such intrusive thoughts seemed to slip up from behind and overtake him. At times, he'd think he was hearing the sounds of her laughter, finding himself looking everywhere, all around, in the hopes that she'd be there, but it, of course, was all in his head.

It was difficult to get over your first love, he thought, but Eleanor made it easy to forget, even if just for days at max. He truly _was _laughing in her presence, making sounds that the world rejoiced in hearing from him, and it wasn't even one of those terrible, monotone laughters that he'd been using the first few months after the painful twist in fate. It was a _real _laugh.

Life went on. Time went on, and he knew that he'd have to catch up before the world left him behind.

Eleanor seemed to have held a hand out to him, though, as if she was waiting for _him _as well. He'd met her at the exact wrong time and place, having stumbled into a cafe with the utmost desire for coffee, as he'd been completely unable to will himself to sleep, knowing all too well that he'd dream of _her, _only to wake up and remember that he had absolutely no right to dream about her. Eleanor had handed him that mug of coffee, and somehow, the warmth of her smile seemed to reassure him that life wasn't as hostile as he made it out to be, not when strangers like the likes of her were giving out smiles, her only motive being to bring kindness wherever they went.

Perhaps, one day, he'd begun to view the world a bit better, or maybe, his vision had somehow improved, but for whatever reason, his eyes had caught hold of the wrist holding out the coffee to him— more specifically, he caught hold of the _freckle _on her wrist, located in just about the same place as _his _was, though the only difference was that his was a bit noticeably larger than hers. It had to mean _something, _and he was vaguely aware of how pained his heart felt as he recalled how Lily hadn't shared a freckle anywhere even _remotely _close to one of his. This was a sign— it _had _to be a sign.

He _had_ to move on.

Not then and there, because he still had thoughts about _her, _but, perhaps, one day he'd learn to walk the earth without thinking _too _much of her— his first love— in order to carry his love on to someone else.

He _did _move on eventually, and he'd found himself asking Eleanor out on a date, somewhere peaceful and quiet so as for him to get to know her better. He gave up on spontaneity, especially when the last bit of spontaneity in his life seemed to have destroyed him from the inside-out, twisting him so that his feelings were spilling out of him until it seemed that he could feel no more.

They'd neared the end of their date now, his hands shoved into his pockets because he'd thought it was far too early for any hand-holding, but she was understanding enough to give him patience. It was a nice date, he mused, and she'd managed to make him laugh a lot, a reminder that he didn't _need_ to depend on one particular person to make him happy.

Life seemed to have passed by in a blur of blacks and greys, because it hadn't fully hit him at just how _pretty _Eleanor was, what with her shiny brown hair and bright eyes nearly as blue as the ocean. He ignored the pangs in his heart that screamed that they should have been green instead, because his heart had no right to dictate what his mind deemed to be his desires.

Blue, blue, _blue._

_Blue _was the colour that he should be drowning himself in, so akin to the ocean in so many ways, so like the sky that the clouds had chosen to hang themselves from, _so _like the grass— no. Not the grass. _Nowhere _near the colour of the grass.

She smiled shyly at him. "I hope this date was up to par with your expectations."

He couldn't help his response, far too accustomed to responding with wit that would hopefully instigate banter between the two of them. "My expectations are pretty high, so I'd say the fact that you managed to get a date with me already says a lot about the date."

Her cheeks turned a pinkish tint. "I suppose so. Will I be seeing you again?"

And there was absolutely _no _reason why he wouldn't see her again, not when all that she'd been to him this entire night was kind, and especially _not _when she shared the same interests as him. He had absolutely no problem with seeing her again, and he'd actually _like _to see her again, wanting to learn more about her. "Only if you want to."

"I do," she replied excitedly, her eyes lighting up at the prospect, and when a cold breeze swept in, she shivered slightly. It was right then and there that he'd realised that she must have been _freezing _in that dress of hers, her leggings and sweater most likely not doing her any justice in providing warmth, and he felt like an absolute ponce for not having realised earlier. He slipped off his coat, not a moment's hesitation in securing it around her person, and though she was taken aback by the gesture, she sent him a warm smile nonetheless. "Thanks."

"It's no problem," he smiled back, and he was momentarily taken back to a time a year ago where he'd done the exact same thing, only to end up wearing the coat despite his best efforts to keep the other party warm. It was completely _not _cool of him to be thinking of such a thing, though he found that the sight of the brunette in his giant coat enough to snap him back to the present time. "Will you make it home safe?"

She nodded. "I drove here."

"Do you want me to walk you to your car? Swear I'm not an evil bloke with ulterior motives."

"I didn't think you were."

"Yeah? What gave it away?"

"You wouldn't have gone the length of taking me out on a date if you were."

He threw his head back in laughter, and she seemed to take immense pride in having been able to make him laugh. "Then, to your car?"

She nodded at him, and he couldn't help but notice that they walked in sync, the heel of her boot making a soft thud against the ground at the same time that _his _shoe landed. He knew that when the sound of her movements fell short, it was a sign that they'd made it to her car and that there was one last thing that was to have been expected from their date.

"James, I'd _really_ like to see you again," she told him sincerely.

He couldn't lie; he _did _want to see her again, so he smiled in return. "That makes the two of us."

Her lips drew up in response, and she stepped forward to him, reaching upward to cup his chin, careful to not poke him with a manicured fingernail. He'd nearly begun leaning down as well, his eyes having fallen closed, but there was something so unfamiliar about her scent, something so strange about having to lean down far less than he was accustomed to, that he couldn't seem to bring himself to meet her lips halfway through.

His hand flew up to his mouth instead, and upon realising how rude that probably came off to him, it shot up to his hair instead. "I'm sorry, Eleanor," he told her apologetically, "I _do _want to see you again, but— I dunno. It's just… I don't really do kisses on the first date."

That was a complete lie, and he of all people knew it. He'd most definitely done first-date kisses in the past, but there were so many factors that were holding him back that he couldn't possibly will himself to do it, even if he really wanted to. It was easy enough to press his lips to someone else, but it wasn't at all meaningful if he couldn't put his utmost feelings into it, and he wanted her to receive the most that he could give her.

She shook her head at him, a soft smile on her face that revealed that she wasn't at all bothered by it. "No, I understand. I won't force anything that you don't want right now."

"I'd _love _to kiss you and see you again. I'm not lying about that. I just—"

"You don't have to justify your reasoning. I trust your judgment." She enclosed her hands over his, before letting go so as to take off his coat. She held it out to him. "Here."

"You sure you're not cold?"

"The car has a heater. I think I'll be fine." She unlocked her car. "I'll see you soon, James."

"Stay safe," he returned, and her fingers froze on the handle of her car door, to which she turned towards him to give a small kiss to the cheek.

"I hope that I can at least get away with that."

"For now," he agreed, and her lips drew upwards at the corners. "Take care."

"You too, James."

She gave one last wave before making her way into the car, and he himself left when she was effectively on the road.

* * *

Whenever the holidays rolled around, James always found it in himself to hang every single light that he could possibly find and put up every single decoration even remotely related to the holidays.

He'd done that every year before, the only difference with last year being that he'd done it with someone other than Sirius, who merely took to throwing such decorations at James while he did all of the dirty work himself. Last year, when the holidays had rolled around, he was genuinely happy, _so _bloody happy that he thought his cheeks would fall from smiling so bloody much, but by the time Christmas had come around, he'd wanted so desperately to kick every single bloody snowman that he saw on the streets until it was just a mushy mess.

It wasn't that this year's holiday season wasn't bringing him joy, because he surely felt merry enough, but there was just something so amiss about the holiday air that it was enough to unnerve him. He knew what it was, of course, but to entertain that thought would only make him want to withdraw to his room and not emerge for days, no matter how intent Sirius was on blasting his holiday music throughout the entire flat in arsed attempts to cheer him up.

He had a _new _girlfriend now, and there was no fear that things would spiral out of control for the two of them, because they had the _marks _to prove it, and besides, he didn't think he was far _too _deep in their relationship to the point that it'd feel as if he couldn't breathe at the thought of them apart. That was his first mistake he'd ever made when he'd been with— yeah, falling hard for someone was only going to hurt him once again.

It'd taken Sirius much time to finally warm up to her, and now, it seemed that Sirius had somewhat begun to thaw, though even the warmest version of him still continued to hurl ice at others, because it was _his _way of protecting James. Still, with Sirius lounging around his flat, he couldn't bring her here, not when the malice that Sirius was most definitely going to treat her with was going to as intense as it could ever be, even _if _he was slightly warmed up to at least the thought of her.

He'd started going through the boxes buried in the depths of his broom closet, and he made a careful note not to accidentally open up the box with a large slash drawn on the side of it, knowing that it contained memories that he didn't want to resurface, because it meant that he'd end up not getting a single thing done for the day. He _could _have found a day to throw all of its contents away, but the thing was that he wasn't _ready _to let go. It meant that he'd have to cease all thoughts of her, and to drop the thought of someone so lovely and embodied all things beautiful was, in a sense, a means of letting go of something positive. He didn't _want _to get rid of positivity.

He'd had much trouble bringing himself to _smile _those first few months, and it was far more difficult than he could have ever imagined, especially when he was clearing away all physical reminders of _their _relationship, so consequently, everything was stowed away for him to never see again. It didn't help that he knew that one day, when he'd finally worked the nerve to throw the box away, he'd cave and wind up scrutinising everything in the box with the utmost examination, only to not throw it away.

He could _never _throw her away.

_Stop._

Eleanor.

Eleanor, Eleanor, _Eleanor._

It was _completely _horrible of him to be thinking about his ex-girlfriend, especially now, when he had someone new to divert his affections towards. It was unfair to her, because he gave his all to Lily, and now, he had to do the same to Eleanor, because it was the least that she deserved.

He'd have a box to fill with memories that he'd make with Eleanor, memories that only _they'd _cherish, memories that would only bring joy.

The Christmas tree had been up since Sirius's birthday, as Sirius had claimed that a month of celebration honestly wasn't long enough, and James made no point to refute it, because he felt that had someone else been there to hear Sirius's argument, they'd undoubtedly team up against James, making it so that any defence that James had would wither up and die like the last flowers of winter. It was strange, he thought, how someone's presence could still linger on after not visiting for so long.

He sometimes wondered how she was doing, if she was coping as well as he was, though with his many thoughts of her, 'well' was only being used subjectively. Physically, he was sure that she was just as beautiful as ever, and he was also sure of the fact that his mates were still keeping contact with her, having made many small little slips-ups, where they'd almost accidentally say her name when telling a story. He couldn't bring himself to be mad at them, because his mates weren't exclusively only his friend, and there was absolutely no reason why they'd have to choose sides, especially when it was _his _fault at large for their relationship coming to an end.

He wished that his mates made an effort to be _that _close with Eleanor, because though Remus and Peter greeted her kindly enough, it was with that fake sort of kindness that aunts greeted their nephews with, not the warmth that they welcomed Lily with when he'd introduced her to them.

It _was _odd of him to continuously be comparing the two, though, but he found it much difficult to stop, for whatever reason beyond him.

It wasn't as if he hadn't seen her since that day, either.

Sometimes, in the months following their break-up, he would catch glimpses of her red hair from the corner of his eye as they walked past one another. He couldn't help but notice how much quicker her steps were as soon as she'd noticed him, and they made no effort to talk to one another. Being just friends, it seemed, just wasn't an option for them. They were far too deeply in—

He shook himself out of the past, focusing on the task before him.

He pulled out a box with lights sticking out from the top of it, knowing that this one most definitely contained Christmas-related decorations, and he slammed it down onto the ground beside Sirius, who looked at it with an air of disinterest. "You're doing this _now?"_

"You put up the tree two months in advanced," James defended, "I want the place ready for guests. And Eleanor _is_ coming over, sooner or later."

"Later, hopefully," Sirius responded, "But with my luck, it's probably sooner."

James looked up from the box. "I thought you'd warmed up to her."

"What am I, a bloody chicken in need of defrosting?"

"More or less," James answered truthfully, and he pulled out the lights at the very top of the pile and laid it out on the ground before moving on to the next form of decoration. "But I say you'd be a disgrace to the chicken species."

Sirius shrugged, unfazed. "Not too different from my current familial situation, I'd say."

James snorted. "Leave it to you to somehow turn this into a pity talk."

"We both know that the person more in need of pity currently is the one wearing glasses with lenses thicker than bloody oatmeal."

"I'm _over _her—"

"I didn't mention anyone who could fall under the category of getting over, so that goes to show just how much you're 'over her.'"

James sighed. "I— It's been a year, mate. Eleanor's really cool, and I really want to move on with her. What's _not _cool is you constantly telling me that I'm better off with an ex."

"Thought you liked honesty?"

"I like it more when you _try _to make an effort to like someone."

"I never said I didn't like Eleanor. She's just _boring."_

"Not besting you in every conversation does _not _make her boring. She's sweet, and she can be awfully funny if you give her the time."

Sirius regarded James's response with little interest, if any at all, and he merely returned to scrolling through various menus of various restaurants so as to see what he— _they,_ probably— would have for dinner tonight. "Doesn't matter if she's boring."

"She's not—" He willed himself to refrain from adding fuel to the fire and instead resorted to making a noise of frustration that fell from the back of his throat. "We've got matching soulmarks."

"Still using a term conned by your ex, I see," Sirius grunted, "The universe must bloody love you to set you up with someone so _boring."_

James looked up at Sirius, the extensive cord in his hand looking as if he was threatening his friend with it. There was no getting to his mate, and so he gave up on convincing him that Eleanor truly _was _a great person, the only problem being that Sirius didn't give a rat's arse about any love interest of James until she had red hair and green eyes.

As he walked from room-to-room, the lights stretching up from behind him, he thought that he could practically hear her laughter from beside him as he told her some stupid joke about how she lit up his life, and it hit him that he'd no longer be able to ever hear the sounds of her laughter ever again. It didn't matter if he pursued her, because he knew that he'd hurt her so badly that she'd probably never want to smile in his near vicinity, not that she _would _have any urge to, anyway.

He'd truly, honestly thought that he'd repressed all feelings that he felt for her, but, of course, because Christmastime had decided to creep up from a dark corner, his feelings had decided to tag along as well, simply since it was known that the holidays were a favourite of one particular redhead, who spread joy through the contagiousness of her smiles. It would be absolutely ludicrous for him to _not _be able to think of, especially when he'd come to associate the holiday season with her.

Over time, perhaps he'd learn to forget about her, but right now, one year— one measly little year— just wasn't enough for him to erase such a large part of himself, and he knew that she'd always hold one little piece of the entire puzzle of his life so that it would forever be incomplete.

There'd been conflicting emotions that battled constantly within him. Part of him had thought he was undeserving of finding love after hurting her the way that he did, but the other part of him was convinced that _everyone _deserved another chance at it. On some days, the former won out when he remembered how hurt she'd been that day, and though she'd stayed the night with him, she lied on the other side of the bed, so audibly upset by him. He didn't even get to say one last goodbye to her, because all traces of her were already gone when morning had come.

Perhaps he'd been thinking about her too much, or perhaps there was some part of him that was compelling him, but for whichever reason it was, he found himself opening the very top drawer in his room, one in which he'd forsaken for the longest of time, because that very specific drawer was used simply to store things that he had absolutely no use for— whether it was old glasses, expired cards, _whichever. _His eyes fell upon the one thing his subconscious had been looking for, one little box that he'd remembered throwing haphazardly into the drawer without a second thought.

He picked it up carefully, opening it up to see that it was still completely intact, and he remembered how a year ago, he'd bought it with the hopes that once the recipient got it, her laughter would fill the air as she expressed her joy for the piece. He recalled how her eyes had caught on to the piece of jewelry that one winter day that they'd walked back to his place, and he'd made the resolve to buy it as soon as possible, though he'd never gotten around to giving it to her, not when fate took a turn for the worse.

He knew what he had to do, though.

There was no other reason for it to lying around in the house, not when it was intended for someone else.

The lights, it seemed, would have to wait for another day.

* * *

He didn't think that he'd be here any time soon. He didn't think that he'd ever be here after that _day, _yet there he was, standing like a complete idiot with his hand poised over the door, ready to knock once he'd gained the confidence to do such a simple action.

He braced himself— possibly spending far more time standing at the door than actually getting there— but enough then he knew that no amount of preparation could ever get him to stand bravely on his feet.

There shouldn't be anything so terrifying about knocking at a door, yet the mere knowledge that she was at the other side of the door was enough to knock any air of confidence that he'd managed to build up inside of him, and any wondering that he'd done was finally to be put at ease once he'd see her again. _If _even ease. There was the overwhelming fear that both parties would leave one another in a fit of tears as nostalgia for the past crept up to them.

And when he'd finally managed to knock, tapping three times, just loud enough for her to not miss it, he felt his heart thumping equally as loud.

It felt as if everything was moving in slow motion, and the door soon opened, revealing the one person he hadn't seen in so long. It felt as if it was a dream to see her once again, and he was merely only able to take in the sight of her, and when his eyes met green, green that quickly grew guarded upon realising _just _who it was that had happened upon her door, he smiled softly at her, as if to tell her that he meant absolutely no harm.

And then the door, just as swiftly as it had opened, began to swing closed.

Though surprised by the reaction, he quickly jammed his foot in between the crack, underestimating the rigour in which she had applied so as to shut it, and he was very much aware of the pain stinging in his foot at where the door had made impact. "_Ow—_ fucking—" He winced terribly at the shooting sensation in his foot. "I— Give a bloke some warning next time, yeah?"

"Give _me _some warning the next time you decide to show up at my place uninvited," she returned immediately without so much as a hint of a smile, and she opened the door carefully, as if that would easy any pain that he felt physically. She moved over to the side, which signified that she wasn't yet kicking him out, and he hesitantly stepped inside, the smell of chocolate filling his nose immediately.

She'd gotten a haircut, he'd noticed, her hair stopping at her shoulders, and he would have berated himself for thinking that she was still as stunning as ever, before reminding himself that there was absolutely nothing wrong with acknowledging that a person was attractive. There was something different about her, something that he couldn't quite put his finger to, but before he could learn what it was, she began walking towards the dinner table, to which she stood behind the chair facing away from him.

"Are you going to sit, or are you going to just stand there?" He'd have thought she was talking to anyone other than him had it not been for the manner in which she'd turned around just the slightest to acknowledge him.

"I— right." He felt his feet moving on their own accord, which was fine with him, because he didn't think that he'd have been able to do it himself, and he seated himself across from her, watching as she stirred a mug of hot chocolate, to which she slid across the table to him. She grabbed her own mug, decorated with whipped cream and topped with cinnamon, before sitting down herself.

"That was supposed to be for Mary—" He couldn't help but take her statement as one with the slightest scorn, as if she felt _compelled _to give it to him. "—But she won't be home for a while, so take it."

"Lily—"

"I _know _how much you love hot chocolate, James Potter." Her voice cracked at the end of her statement, as if just saying his name hurt to her right down to the bone. "_Take _it."

He nodded, reaching out to take it, not realising that her hand was still curled around the rim of it, and so he wound up feeling her fingers beneath his. The sensation warmed him, even if it lasted for just a short second, and she let go of the mug, wiping the back of her hand subtly on her shirt as if he was dirty to the touch.

In an attempt to escape the awkward atmosphere, he picked up the mug, taking a small sip that brought the overwhelming smell and taste of chocolate and peppermint, which brought him back to a distant time where there were no doubts about the joy that he had felt then.

He couldn't help but recall how sweet her lips had tasted as he took the opportunity to taste the hot chocolate that she'd made. He remembered laughing so hard that his cheeks hurt as he licked the whipped cream off of her lips before kissing her with all of the love that she deserved, and it was such a contrast to the setting now, where he was using the very same type of drink to wash down the tense air between the two of them.

There was no smiling in this situation.

No matter how much he gulped down, no matter how much of the liquid burned his throat, he couldn't get rid of the memories bubbling up from the depths of his brain, and so he slammed the mug down, making a sound loud enough to make her jump in her seat. "Sorry."

"Right, well, you've a lot of things to be sorry for," she replied, and he'd have refuted her argument if she wasn't right. It wasn't even that she was trying to guilt-trip him, because he _knew _how much hurt he'd left her, how much hurt he'd brought onto _himself, _and yet he still felt like complete rubbish for it all anyway.

"I do," he merely said instead, and he noticed how she'd yet to meet his eye. Anytime he'd thought she was looking at him, it seemed that she'd taken to look at a fixed point somewhere above his shoulder instead. "How have you been?"

She didn't satisfy him with an answer, though he hadn't expected her to. "James, what are you _doing _here?"

He looked at her, and there she was, looking at, perhaps, the refrigerator behind him rather than actually at him. He tried to make out the emotions that she'd always let stir in her eyes, mixing with the greens, and he found that they were completely guarded and completely lackluster of the usual shine that she used to showcase to the world.

It was strange to think that this was the same person who shone brighter than the sun, who had lit up his life in so brightly a manner that he wouldn't have been surprised if _she _was the reason why his eyesight was so poor, because now, as she sat there, the only thing that he could perceive was how _tired _she appeared to be, as if every day was a struggle to breathe through. He felt his heart hammer out at the thought of how much pain she felt each day, but he quickly chastised himself.

Who was _he _to assume that she'd be upset over the likes of _him? _He wasn't worth the pain.

He thought that he was getting better as the days passed, but the sight of her in such a state tore down the progress that he was making, because all he wanted in this very moment was to somehow bring a smile to her face, to give her the fuel she needed to make the planet pick up its pace and revolve as scheduled once again, as the world seemed to have somehow stopped because of the state of Lily Evans.

It wasn't even that he expected her to be so merry and happy after he'd promised her that he'd keep her heart, which she had happily given him, only to break it into a million pieces and bury it deep into the ground. That was far too unrealistic of him, but all he wanted was for her to have the best life that she could, even if it meant that he'd be miserable in the process.

Cracking a joke wouldn't help in this situation, and so he pulled out the physical reason for visiting her, sliding the box across the table to her. "This is for you."

Her eyes flickered down to the box before returning back to the point behind his shoulder. "I am _not _taking that."

"At least _look_ at it."

"James, you can't just show up to my house and give me something expensive when we haven't spoken in a year."

"Why the bloody fuck not?" he shot back, "Lily, I bought this for _you."_

She swallowed and took a deep breath. He could make out a slight trace of pain in her eyes when she focused them on his shirt. "Word on the street is that you've got a new girlfriend, so why give this to me instead of her? Surely, you've _got_ to be treating her with all of the respect that she deserves."

A new girlfriend.

Eleanor.

Eleanor hadn't once crossed his mind this entire time that he'd been here, and he felt shame bubbling in himself this entire time, because he'd probably thought about Lily's well-being more times than he'd probably ever thought about his current girlfriend, and if not, then such thoughts were definitely _not _as strong as the thoughts he'd had about Lily. He was being a complete arse right now, even if he _had_ no control over the thoughts that frequented his mind, because he _should _have been putting his girlfriend somewhere near the top of the list, and yet, there he was, reunited with his ex-girlfriend.

Even just the _thought _of her being an ex sent a jolt to his heart.

He ignored the fact that her words were confirmation of the goodness in her heart, even if the implications of her words were of how harshly he'd dropped her. "I— I didn't get this recently, all right? I got it a year ago for you specifically. It caught your eye when we walked past a store together, and I wanted to be a nice boyfriend and get it for you, because it was the least that you deserved."

She stared down at her mug, not answering, and she let out a light sniffle before closing her eyes momentarily. He watched her take a deep breath, her hands tightly gripping her mug, before she slowly opened her eyes again. "I still can't take it."

"You _can—"_

"No, I _can't, _James. I—" She finally willed herself to meet his eyes, and he was hit with the sight of something that was all too familiar to him, yet so _foreign _because it had been so long since green had met hazel, so long since the moon met the sun. "What am I supposed to do with it? I can't wear it, and I can't sell it. _Why _are you putting this to waste when—"

"I can't give it away when it was intended for _you."_

"And I can't wear it when it _came_ from you."

"Lily, please don't be so stubborn," he said, and just _saying_ those words seemed to break him even more on the inside, because they were a reminder of one of the reasons why he'd fallen for her so hard. Her stubbornness was a part of her that he could never want disappearing out into the world.

"If I take it, what will happen then? Are we just never going to see each other again?"

He casted his eyes down at his hands, because as much as he'd like to see her again, he knew that wasn't a possibility, not when he'd stomped all over her heart the way that he did. Truly, he hadn't considered what was to happen after their meeting, having been far too swept up in the memories circulating from the past to even give thought to the future. "I don't know. I've never— I couldn't just do anything about it without seeing you about it first. I felt that you had the choice because it was for you, Lily."

"And it took you a year to see me about it?" He could hear the hurt in her voice.

His hand flew up to his neck, scratching it awkwardly. "I couldn't exactly give it to you as soon as we'd broken up."

"That is _not _what I meant." He waited for her to elaborate. "Why _now, _when I was finally starting to get over you?"

There was silence on his part, and he once again felt deep shame welling inside of himself upon hearing her words. He knew that his presence was merely rubbing salt into a wound that was _just _beginning to heal, but he'd felt so intent on delivering the necklace to her that he hadn't even stopped to consider the consequences of such an action. Finally, he said, "It had to happen sometime."

"It didn't have to happen at _all,"_ she shot back, "James, I truly _can't _take that necklace."

"If I gave it to you before we broke things off—" Before _he _had broken things off, more like. "—What would you have done with it?"

"I would have _returned _it to you. James, please—"

"Lily, I'm not asking you to take _me_ back. Take it. _Please."_

"You're an arsehole, did you know that?" she snapped at him, and he was taken aback by her words, though he was quick to notice the hot tears brimming in her eyes, "You're the biggest bloody arsehole I've _ever _met. I really _was_ planning on moving on. I was going on a _date _today, and you just— you can't even _choose_ whether or not to stay in my life. When I think that I _might _finally be over you, I'll suddenly be thinking about your smile, or your voice, or your— I can't even _go _on the bloody date anymore, because it wouldn't even fair to the other person, not when the only thing I'll be thinking about is _you, _whether I want to or not."

More shame welled up inside of him, more than enough to fill an ocean. "Lily—"

"I _know _that you've ulterior motives in bringing this to me," she cut him off, "You can't _possibly _be daft enough to think that I don't have an idea of what's going through your head when I know you more than I know myself."

"I don't— Lily, I _don't," _he denied, stammering, "I can't even imagine the pain that you're going through, and I'm sorry. I am _so _bloody sorry for hurting you the way that I did, but I _can't. _I can't do anything but bring this to you. I swear that I _don't _have any tricks up my sleeve. I just—"

"If you're sorry, then leave. _Please _leave." He heard the urgency in her voice, and looking down at her hands, he saw that they were clenched tightly to the point that he'd feared they would break. Flickering up to her eyes, he noticed that there were tears that she was forcing to not fall. She was holding back. After all of this, and she was _still _holding back the deepest parts of her feelings.

They didn't _have _the privilege of cradling each other's hearts in their hands anymore. It was _all _on him, not her, who had kept faith in their relationship even in the moment of truth.

His eyelids felt heavy with a certain feeling, and he didn't at all blame her for closing her eyes so often as she'd done. He didn't blame her for anything. He only blamed himself. "If I take this, will you go?"

He swallowed, his heart feeling heavy. "Yeah."

She hesitantly reached out to pick the box up from the table and opened it, her face growing even more crestfallen at the sight of the content in the box, just as the past came to punch her in the very place where she was most vulnerable. She closed it promptly, putting it off to the side, and looked at him, as if there was nothing amiss with the situation, as if she wasn't on the verge of falling apart. "Is there anything else?"

Her words held the implication that she no longer wanted to see him, but the very thing was that he didn't _want_ to leave her just yet, because they had so much to catch up on, and he still didn't have the slightest clue as to what had been going on his life, only to chastise himself for having such thoughts. He didn't _have _the right to know anymore. He'd given all of that up a year ago. "Before I go, can we hug?"

The pain that shot through her eyes and bounced off of every surface of her face was more than enough of an answer to his question. "Please, James. _Don't _make this any bloody harder than it already is."

He felt his heart respond with a shooting pang, and though her eyes were shining, it was from the tears that were threatening to fall rather than from any joy that she could have. He nodded at her, giving in to the notion that there was no hope for saving any remnant of their relationship, whether it be maintained as platonic or even as acquaintances. "Right, I understand." He stood from his seat, having forgotten about the chocolate, which had turned cold by now. "Take care, Lily."

"That'll be easier said than done," she replied softly, and he was almost halfway to the door when she'd said that. He wasn't able to stop himself from turning around to look at her, memorising the sight of her, and he wondered vaguely if it spoke words about this little gesture, that even now, he _still_ stopped to catch a glimpse of her, knowing that this might be the very last time he'd ever see her again. Though, he'd thought that he'd never see her again after that day a year, and quite evidently, that was false.

He opened the door and closed it quietly behind him, and with the barrier between them, he finally felt the feelings that he'd suppressed creeping back up onto him and engulfing him like a burning flame.

And, just when he'd thought that he couldn't possibly feel any worse, he distinctly heard the sounds of her sobs through the wall, a sound so heartbreakingly sorrowful that had the birds caught on to the sound, they'd sing songs just to remind her of all of the joys in life, though their singing would only be in vain. Something had exploded within him, leaving shrapnel that was to pierce him permanently. He wanted so desperately to turn around, to burst in and cradle her while telling her that it would be all right, but the fact of the matter was that he couldn't even convince _himself _that things would look up for him, and so he continued walking forward, each step more painful than the next.

There were thoughts that his mind was forcing him to acknowledge, and the mere fact that he'd let her go without any form of mercy was enough to break him in two. He knew that he didn't deserve her, but that was a thought that he should have recognised as the truth a long time ago.

He wasn't sure when his own tears had begun falling, but once he'd realised, he made no effort to stop them.

He'd broken Lily Evans.

* * *

He'd thought that he'd get better after a year, yet here he was, feeling just as miserable as he'd been when everything had spiralled downhill.

In a year, he'd managed to go days without thinking of her, managed to get through life without so much as wanting to fall apart, and now, he was right back to square one, simply because of the knowledge that she was equally as torn as he was, if not worse.

Eleanor had invited him over to her place, having made hot chocolate from a mix that she'd brought from the same cafe that he'd met her at, and he found no good reason to turn down her offer, because it meant that he'd spend time with his girlfriend, who he was _supposed _to be cherishing with as much of his heart as he could give. She set a mug filled to the brim with marshmallows down in front of him, and he smiled at her in gratitude. "Thanks, Eleanor."

Her lips drew up at the ends before turning downwards at the sight of him. "Are you okay? You look a bit tired."

"I'm fine." _That _was a lie, and she could see right through him. How could _anyone _not see through him, when his eyes probably had bags deep enough to cause concern?

"I understand if you don't want to talk about it, but—"

"No, no, it's not that I don't trust you with that information," he cut in, "I don't want to burden you with my problems."

"You're not going to burden me," she assured him, and she reached over to take his hand in hers, "I want to be there for you."

He smiled softly at her, pulling her down to his level to press a small, chaste kiss to her lips, though he took slight notice of the fact that their kisses didn't make him feel as warm as he'd expected them to. They rarely felt warm. "And I appreciate that. _Really _appreciate it, actually."

"Is there anything I can do to make you feel better?"

"Just being there helps, really." He took a small sip of the hot chocolate, the liquid burning his tongue immediately because he'd forgotten to blow at the surface, and he let out a small sound of profanity.

He watched her eyes soften in sympathy. "Are you—" She stopped herself. "I'm sorry. That was a dumb question."

He shook his head at her. "It wasn't dumb. Don't think that."

"But—"

"I really _am _fine, El." He opened his mouth, sticking his tongue out. "See? It's still there, isn't it?"

She still look concerned. "James, I don't think I see it." He blinked at her, before a hint of a smile grew on her face, and he let out a slight, playful groan.

"I can't believe I really just bloody fell for that," he said, plucking a marshmallow that hadn't yet melted in the mug and dropping it into his mouth. The sweetness of it filled his mouth almost immediately, and he was again reminded of a memory that he'd tried so desperately to suppress, but the sound of sweet laughter was threatening to overcome his ears, a sound so loud that it appeared that it would be the only thing that he would ever hear again.

He wasn't _supposed _to hear it again. He didn't _deserve _to hear it, and yet, her laughter was ringing out in his ears, as if it was a sound that was actually in the room at that moment.

The problem was that no one was laughing, not him, not Eleanor, and most definitely not _her._

It was difficult to appear nonplussed by her sudden emergence, having found a way to overtake every one of his senses, every inch of his person, without actually being there, and so he wasn't surprised when Eleanor grew concerned for him once again. "James—"

"I'm fine," he said once again, and he didn't know whether he was trying to convince her or himself, but from the way in his his hands were slightly trembling, it must have been the latter. He didn't want to talk about _her_ to his current girlfriend, because she didn't deserve to hear the miserable side of him that still hadn't found a way to get over a ghost of his past, a ghost that he could never push away no matter how hard he tried.

The sound of her laughter went away, though there was no room to feel ease, because he'd suddenly thought back to the sounds of something _completely _different, sounds that he'd wished he'd never have to have heard from the one person who radiated sunshine in every single aspect. He told himself again and again about how unfair it was to Eleanor that he continually thought about Lily, but she'd somehow managed to gain complete control over his thoughts, making it so that _she _was the only thing that constantly swarmed his mind.

In the back of his mind, safely tucked away, was the knowledge of _why _exactly he couldn't escape her, that every path he tried to avoid in an effort to forget about her only paved the way that led right _back _to her. He'd stowed it away, not wanting to accept it, but when fate was desperate to take its course, he _couldn't _disregard that vital piece of information.

He wanted to be with _Lily, _not with Eleanor.

He was in _love _with Lily, and no matter how hard he tried to sway himself into believing that Eleanor was the one for him, he couldn't help but dwell on the fact that they didn't have the _exact _marks that supposedly a soulmate, because her freckle was small enough to notice a difference. If such a case, maybe he didn't _need _a soulmate.

_Why _would he need a soulmate, when she wouldn't be the one person that he wanted?

He'd always assumed that soulmates were supposed to complete one another, just like the way puzzle pieces fit, but perhaps that wasn't accurate, as he'd remembered that his life functioned _perfectly _well before meeting her. Perhaps, instead, _he _was one whole puzzle himself, put together the way the universe had arranged for him to be, and hurting her broke him apart, making it _seem _as if he only functioned with her.

He could make it work. _They _could make a relationship work, no matter if they were soulmates or not. They could learn to work through it together, because _that _was how a relationship remained strong, but this was the exact argument that she'd used that dreadful day, only that he'd been foolish enough to not listen.

It wasn't even completely certain that she would even take him back, and he wouldn't even at all blame her if she chose not to. He was more than willing to put himself through the worst of situations if it saved her from any emotional pain, but he was sure that she'd absolutely refuse any form of pain to him, simply because it was just in her person to do such a thing.

No, he had to stop.

He was getting far too ahead of himself. There was Eleanor, _too _sweet to even be with a ponce like him, standing there as his thoughts left a silence that hung over the air like a cloud that threatened to break the horizon, ready to unleash its contents onto the world so that everyone could feel its wrath. "I'm sorry, Eleanor."

Her understanding of the situation shone through in her words, and she gave him a small, wistful smile. "This is about your ex, isn't it? Lily?"

There was no accusation in her tone, yet he still found himself surprised by her response, and he blinked at her. "I— yeah. How did you know?"

"You looked miserable when we first met. I've noticed that people look that way when their soulmate isn't who they expected it to be," she replied, and she pushed the mug of hot chocolate towards him, "It's cooled down a little. You should drink it before you go."

"I'm not going to leave you, El."

"I really appreciate that, James, but you really should go."

"No, I— I'm not going to make you feel like shit for leaving you for an ex."

She shook her head. "You wouldn't be."

"The thing is, I _would, _actually, and—"

"James, I'm breaking up with you."

He blinked at her, not sure why he didn't at all see that coming. He hadn't put his all into the relationship, and any observer would have realised it.

He didn't have to ask if he would see her again. This would, most definitely, be the last time he'd ever meet up with her.

"You deserved better, Eleanor," he told her sincerely, and she shrugged lightly.

"I know. There's no point on entertaining that thought."

"I'm sorry again," he said, "For using you to get over someone else. That was a shit thing of me to do."

"There's no need to apologise," she assured him, and he couldn't help but think about how she was far too good for him. _Women _were far too good for him. "I knew what I was getting myself into."

"But you don't disagree with that being a shit move."

She shook her head. "I don't."

He gave her a self-deprecating smile. "At least we can agree on that."

She let out a small sound of agreement. "Yeah. I wish you and Lily the best."

"I reckon it's only Lily who deserves the best," he replied, and cringed inwardly as he realised how that could have been misinterpreted, "That is, _I'm _not the best. At all. I mean that I don't deserve half the good things that come to me."

She didn't agree or protest his words, keeping silence on the matter regarding how worthy he was. He knew that she wasn't completely vocalising her feelings, but it didn't matter; the fact that he was _too _willing to dump her for an ex that he'd absolutely no chance with showed that he truly _was _the biggest arsehole to have ever existed. She walked around him to grab a napkin from the kitchen counter, lingering behind him before placing it down in front of him. "You've got five soulmate marks."

His eyebrows drew together in confusion at her words. "I have four."

She shook her head at him. "You never told me that you had a mark on your neck."

"That's because I don't—" He blinked, his mind flashing back to that one mark of Lily's that he'd always found alluring, as it was a magnet pulling him in, located on the very back of her neck that he'd always treated with the utmost delicacy. He'd never known the reason as to why it had always drawn him in, because he'd never felt so strongly for any of her other marks, but now, his mind was running through about a million thoughts at a time as he began to ponder the possibilities.

Could he…?

No, because that would only lead to the question of _how_ could he have never noticed it in all of his years of living?

The answer to _that _came to him soon enough, as he'd recalled how, as a child, whenever someone so much as _mentioned _any mark that he had, he put put a fight to not listen, covering his ears and singing loudly so that he could not hear them. There was the point that he had always kept his hair long enough to cover that one part of his neck that couldn't _possibly _have a mark, located in a place where he would _never _have seen it, even if his hair had been short.

He'd gotten a haircut yesterday, though, which was entirely out of a whim, because he'd been struck with the memory of how much Lily had loved the length of his hair, and when even _that _was a reminder of her, he'd resolved to put a change to it.

He looked at Eleanor confoundedly, his heart feeling as if it was running a race of its own. It was painfully obvious where the mark was now, if his heart wasn't lying to him. "It's on the back of my neck."

She nodded in confirmation, smiling lightly as he began to put two and two together. "It's on the back of your neck."

* * *

find me on tumblr lovesickjily and also please don't hesitate to leave a review or whichever if you enjoyed/cried/screamed whicheverrr (but no pressure)


	3. forever, my love

last part of the story! i hope you enjoy x

* * *

There were many wonders in the world that required much marvelling over, one of such being how he was able to run as fast as he was running. How fast his legs were able to carry him was a fact beyond him, and yet the time that seemed to pass by was a complete contrast to the movements of his legs.

He couldn't recall a time where he ever had the need to move so quickly, and he was sure that had he been put in any other situation where running was a requirement, whether the conflict was between life and death, he'd most likely find himself moving nowhere near as quickly as he running was now. He could have been moving towards his death at this very second, but all he found himself caring about was getting to her as quick as possible.

He didn't see a point in waiting around for her once more. He wanted to spend every second that he could with her now, because that epiphany, that one little epiphany, was enough to make the most noticeable of all changes in himself, in his life, and that was more than enough incentive to spur him on to spending time with the one person who he'd always thought he'd spend his life with.

It was difficult to recall just exactly how his conversation with Eleanor had ended after her confirming words of the location of that one elusive mark that he'd never known was there, because all he could focus then was her— Lily.

He couldn't even recall what words he'd said to Eleanor afterwards, and the only way he'd even known that he'd spoken to her after his momentous epiphany was because he was distinctly aware of the way his mouth was moving on its own accord. He might have said something concerning her wellbeing, but he didn't think it was important, because the next thing that he knew was that he was out of her flat in a matter of minutes.

He'd absolutely no idea what to do now, not even sure if he had been the one to break up with her or if it had been the other way around, but what he did know was that Eleanor had played a huge role in paving the way right back to Lily, as if she had uncovered the dirt that had buried the stones that made up that path. It was a given that every failed relationship only helped to make progress towards the relationship that one was to cherish for the rest of their life, and yet, Eleanor had done so much more for him than he could ever deserve.

He just hoped that it wouldn't all be in vain.

He'd found himself right back at the door that he'd thought he'd never step in front of again for the second time in a week, yet he still found himself hesitating just like the other time, but there was so much more fear and trepidation in his heart, because he hadn't come to ask for permission to have her heart that time like he was doing now.

Perhaps he was been far too sudden; after all, he had just parted ways with someone, and to be going back to an ex said a lot about his character. He didn't want to be shamed for loving someone, and even then, he should have given himself time before moving on to someone else. He'd waited nearly the most of a year after breaking up with Lily, and it wasn't at all fair to Eleanor if he found no break at all, even if she had encouraged him to amend his relationship with Lily.

He made no attempt to knock at the door, as he still needed time to catch his breath, but the more he thought about it, the more shame he felt welling up inside of himself. Shame, it seemed, was a feeling that seemed to frequent his insides.

It was no doubt that just the idea of soulmates had destroyed his life and consequently hurt others in the process. He should have never given in to the magnetic forces of just the idea of love, should have remained an innocent child who was none the wiser of how destructive love could have been, because now, at this very point in his life, he had absolutely no idea what to do with himself. He'd been sure just a moment ago, but now, when rationality had finally caught up to him, he felt so feeble in this small little life of his.

The thing was, he couldn't bring himself to face her so soon, not when he'd left her with tears falling from her eyes just a week ago. It was incredibly selfish of him to ever think that, even for a fleeting moment, that she'd be eager to take him back after he'd driven a knife through her heart, especially when that knife, so difficult to pull out, was probably still wedged within her.

Someday he'd be able to knock at the door without feeling as if he had no right to do so, and so he turned around, delaying this day for another time in the future.

Or so he'd thought that it would be postponed, but as he rounded the corner to get to the elevator, he ran right into the one person he'd least expected, consequently impaling himself on the symbolic knife that he'd buried in her heart.

She was cradling some mail in her arms, looking up at him with about the same surprise that he imagined that he was staring at her with. She hadn't done anything special to her appearance, merely wearing an outfit that she would likely wear to sleep, and her face devoid of any noticeable makeup, if any at all, and yet his first thought was that he still found something so completely and utterly beautiful about her.

His second thought was how cold she must have been, and out of some feeling of nobleness, he felt himself shrugging off his coat, as if it was second nature to him, but he stopped himself once the article of clothing was poised in the air. He awkwardly put it back on his person, not missing the manner in which she appeared even more shocked at his actions.

His heart felt ready to burst at the seams at the sight of her in front of him. He was struck with the urge to suddenly hold her in his arms but quickly suppressed that desire, knowing that it would only serve to make her feel uncomfortable. She wasn't wearing the necklace that they'd made a fuss over, but he hadn't at all expected her to have been.

He didn't know what to say to her, not at all prepared for this sudden turn of events, because he'd expected her to have been on the other side of the door, not there right in front of him. "Lily, I— Hi."

"James," she returned, her green eyes never leaving his face, as if she was in complete disbelief that he was actually there, and then they narrowed slightly, "You aren't here to give me something again, are you?"

"I came to talk, actually."

Her hands dropped to her sides, as did her lips, turning downwards at his response. "James, you can't just come here to talk about matters that happened a year ago. I thought we'd discussed that a week ago already."

"No, but it's important. Really," he replied lamely, and he could practically hear the desperation in his voice.

Her facade of coolness fell at his words.

"Important for who? You? James, I really can't. I can't get hurt by you again. Please— leave it all it in the past." Her voice cracked slightly at the end, and she continued the walk back to her flat. He stood there, his mind whirling about in every direction, and he knew that he couldn't leave it, couldn't leave her, not right now.

"I've got the mark!" he called after her, and she stopped ever-so-slightly, turning around as her eyes flickered with hurt.

She reached over to take his hand in hers, the heat emanating from their intertwined hands warming up the ice that had glossed over his heart, as she led him into her flat, closing the door lightly behind her. She promptly dropped his hand when the door clicked shut, and his hand felt colder than before she had held it.

"Lily, I—"

"Do you really think that everything will change because of a little mark?" she snapped, and the ice froze over once more at the realisation that she'd only taken him into her flat to not disturb the neighbours. "If so, you're sorely mistaken, James Potter."

"The truth is that I—"

"Put too much faith into a mark instead of our relationship?" she finished for him, and though it wasn't at all what he'd planned on saying, the sheer truth of her words seemed to have hit him like a brick to the face.

"I— yeah, I deserved that, but that wasn't what I was going to say."

"Right, well, if you'd planned on coming here to take me back, you'd have to think I'm an absolute idiot," she replied briskly, and she turned her back towards him, facing the kitchen as she set the tea, having poured enough for both of them.

"No, of course I don't think— you're the smartest person I know, Lily."

"Then why are you back?" she snapped at him, and he could hear the hurt in her tone, "Surely you've managed to move on."

"I was planning on not knocking. I actually was about to leave before I ran into you," he told her honestly, and with a pause, he added, "You deserve to be mad."

"Thank you for allowing me to feel emotions," she replied wryly, and he found a retort building on the tip of his tongue, only to remind himself that there was no room for banter, not unless he wanted to work her nerves up even more than he already was just by being in her presence. "You should sit down, unless you want my 'madness' to multiply tenfold."

He nodded, complying, and she followed not long after, setting his mug of tea in front of him, done the exact way that he liked it, which only served to tell him that after all of this time she still remembered, even if it seemed that she didn't want to. She took a small sip of her drink, sighing deeply. "I shouldn't even be letting you inside. Talk. You've got five minutes."

He opened his mouth to speak, but he had absolutely no idea what to say, because he hadn't gotten that far, had only managed to conjure up what seemed could only be a bout of fantasy now, phrases that related to how much he felt for her, and now, it seemed that he couldn't very well tell her how much he loved her without being turned away from her. "Eleanor and I broke up."

Her eyes flickered over to him before returning back to her mug. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to be doing with that information."

He shrugged lightly. "I just wanted you to know."

"In the case that I might consider taking you back," she added, her words coming out more as a statement than as a question, and his eyes widened.

"I— No." She looked unconvinced. "I know you're not quick to sway."

"But you came here with just those intentions."

He bit his lip as he felt guilt at how true her words were, not even stinging him because they were the truth that she'd just been making him acknowledge. He had come with those exact intentions, even if he'd managed to convince himself to try to leave before making more decisions that would only end in more regret. Even then, after a year, she still knew him more than he could ever know himself.

She continued. "James, I can't. I— do you know how embarrassing it was for you to leave because of a stupid little mark that I was supposed to have? I deserved so much better than that. You've got to realise how hurtful it is to be dumped by someone over a bloody mark."

"I've got an idea of it," he answered dumbly. "I just—" His sentence fell short.

An idea wasn't enough to fully cover just how much he thought about how much pain he'd brought onto her. It wasn't as if he hadn't spent nearly every waking second of his life for the months following their break up reflecting on just how heartbroken she'd been, and the sounds of her sobs— whether it from a week ago, from a year ago, or even just from the imaginations that his brain had conjured up— were enough to tear him apart on the insides, like a knife to the gut.

Back then, though, he was so convinced that she was the one, that a mark was the only real form of validation that a person could take when it came to soulmates, and he was disgusted with himself for letting her go so easily. He should have fought for her, just as much as she'd fought for him, and yet he let her go.

Why did he let her go?

They had the marks now— he knew that for sure— but the thing was, the marks shouldn't have the power to make or break a relationship, and the only reason that it did destroy what they had was because he gave it the power to do so. The concept of power was the same when applied to everything else, and so there shouldn't— wasn't— a difference now.

"I hate the concept of soulmates now. I hate it so bloody much, You can't even imagine—" stopped, her voice breaking at the end, and she sighed, her eyes filled with slight guilt, "I'm making you feel like shit, aren't I?"

"It's not like I don't deserve it," he replied, "You're too good for me."

"James Potter, don't you ever bloody say that." She looked completely outraged by his words. "You can't put me up on a pedestal because you've proven that you've made mistakes. Stupid mistakes that have hurt me, but don't you ever knock yourself down for them."

She saw him for who he truly was, understood him on a level that he couldn't understand himself. Now, though, he couldn't understand how she still saw good in him, when every time he'd looked in the mirror, he only felt guilt for his actions. "I hurt you. That's what makes me so undeserving. I shouldn't even be allowed to stand in your proximity."

"I'm not going to file a restraining order against you," she said, seeming to have read his mind, "You broke up with me. You didn't violate me on any non-consensual terms."

He shrugged lightly. "I didn't think that you'd be wanting to hang out with the likes of me anytime soon."

"You're here right now," she pointed out.

"I am," he agreed, "I should leave for good, then, yeah? I don't want to hurt you any more than I've already had."

"You are not."

He blinked at her. "So you do want me around?"

"I made you tea and dragged you in here, didn't I?"

"Then… what?"

She didn't answer him immediately, standing up instead as she walked towards him, and he'd absolutely no clue as to what exactly it was that she was planning to do— that is, until she slipped her arms beneath his as she held him in an embrace. The chair scraped against the ground as he scrambled to stand up to properly hold her in his arms, and his heart felt full as he was made aware of just how warm she was, just how perfectly she fit in his arms, as if it was an epiphany that he should have been made aware of a long time ago.

In fact, it was an epiphany that he'd known for the longest of times already.

There was nothing like the feel of Lily Evans, the overwhelming sensation that he could have drowned in without fear of losing sight of everything, and he was quickly aware of the sniffles coming from her that progressively grew louder as he continued to hold her. He didn't want to let go, and from the manner in which her own hold around him tightened, it seemed that she didn't want to either. A thought flew in from the back of his head that reminded him of how akin this situation was to the night that they'd separated, and, just like that time, he was fearful of the uncertainty that the future held.

He couldn't help himself. "I thought you'd rather not hug me."

She pulled her head off of his chest, looking up at him with tear-streaked eyes, before placing it right back onto his person. "I'm sorry for being in such a terrible mood. It's been a horrible year without you. I— Of course I missed you, and of course I wanted to hug you, only there was so much holding me back. And it still does hurt a lot from seeing you, but the thing is that I don't want to go without seeing you, no matter how much of an arse you really are."

His eyes softened at her confession. "Lily—"

"Don't get me wrong," she interrupted him, and one hand moved up to his cheek, "This isn't me saying that I want to get back with you."

"No, of course," he replied quickly, though he felt his shoulders drooping at her words and heard the disappointment so evident in his voice, "Right."

"I just— we should start small first before making any other decisions."

"No, yeah, that makes sense."

She pulled away from him, and he felt cold once again, as if she'd thrown him outside into the severity that was winter, but her hands didn't stray away from him, instead moving upwards to his hair, a light frown on her lips. "You got a haircut."

"Yeah," he replied, and from their closeness he could make out the greens of her eyes, shades he hadn't seen in such a long time that he now wished he could drown himself in. "It's a bit too short for your liking, isn't it?"

She shrugged lightly. "It's not as if you're trying to impress me."

"No," he agreed, "But it does help to show off one certain little mark."

Her eyes softened at the implications of his words. "James—"

"I swear I'm not trying to change your mind. I just, I dunno, I think it's a bit funny how I never thought that I might have had a mark I never knew was there. Or, at least it's a bit funny once I get over the fact that I hurt you in the process." His hand flew up to the back of his neck as he scratched at it awkwardly. "I haven't done a great job at getting over that."

"I suppose neither of us have done a great job at getting over something."

He looked at her, her hands now bent back as she used them as to support to keep balance, and his heart filled for quite possibly the millionth time that day. "You don't have to do that anymore. I'll be waiting."

"That's bold on you to assume that I want you to wait."

"Do you blame me?"

She shook her head, a light smile on her face, despite her cheeks still being red and eyes still shining with tears. "Not at all."

He smiled softly at her, his heart beginning to beat with trepidation. "Then, should I wait for you?"

"If you've got the patience."

"I don't usually, but when it comes to you, I'll try my best. How long will I be waiting? A week? A month? Another year, maybe?"

"If I feel ready again, whether it's a day, or a month, or maybe a year," she answered, and she reached over to take his hand in hers, pressing it against her cheek as she nuzzled into it.

He rubbed sweet circles into her cheek with his thumb, and she sighed in content at the feeling. "I'd wait centuries. I missed you a lot, Lily."

"That makes the two of us," she agreed, and she let go of his hand, "I'll be right back."

He nodded at her, watching as she retreated into the safety of her room for a moment, and so he turned towards the rest of the flat, decorated with lights all around in preparation for the coming holiday. Last week, the flat had only been halfway finished in terms of decoration, but now, the place seemed to glow with cheer, and he was glad that his appearance didn't stop her from getting into the spirit of the holiday, even if it could have been Mary who had finished all of the work. A part of him knew that it had been Lily who been done it, though.

He picked up the tea, now warm enough to drink without fear of burning his tongue again, and he took a large gulp of it. She returned soon afterwards, a small box in her hand that could only be the necklace that he'd given her.

"You didn't throw it away," he said in amazement.

"I wasn't planning on it," she replied, allowing a small smile to grow on her face, "I wasn't planning on doing anything with it, really."

"Are you returning it to me?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Do you want it back?"

He shook his head at her. "'Course not. I just— what are you doing?"

Her lips drew upwards at him, and she opened the box, pulling the necklace out delicately before holding it out to him. "Do you mind putting this on me?"

He smiled in response, taking the piece of jewelry from her fingers, and he swept the hair tickling the back of her neck so that that lovely freckle of hers— the very one that he knew that they shared now— was in his sight. The silver felt cool in his hands, and he wound it around her neck gently, clicking the two ends of it together before letting go, though not before letting his finger hover over her freckle. "It's this one."

She turned around, her eyes aglow with curiosity as she looked up at him. "Sorry?"

"The mark, I mean," he said, "I've got that mark as well."

Comprehension dawned on her face, and she replied, "I shouldn't bring myself to care." She let out an exasperated huff of air. "But, I just— I can't believe I never noticed."

"Honestly, you can't even blame yourself. I never noticed."

"I don't think there's any circumstance where you'd ever stop to look at the back of your neck in a mirror," she replied, her fingers running over the small pendant of her necklace, "And your hair always covered it up. I never stopped to see if you had anything there, because I didn't want to set myself up for disappointment."

"I was a stubborn shit as a child, so that probably also accounts for the reason why I've never noticed."

She smiled teasingly. "I suppose some things haven't changed since then."

He rolled his eyes lightly at her. "I can't even argue with you there."

It was strange, he mused, how they could transition from a fit of seriousness to banter in a matter of minutes, but with her, there was no reason why that couldn't happen. Lily Evans was something else, an ethereal being that was far too good for everything in this world, especially him, who still couldn't fathom how she was giving him another chance at spending his life with her, even if that privilege wasn't to come until another point in the future. It didn't matter though, because he was willing to wait lifetimes for her if it meant that he could be with her, and her smile grew tenfold, a sight that, like everything else that his eyes had been delighted with, he was more than willing to save in the front of his brain forever.

"Can I see the mark?" she asked him, and his eyebrows drew up in surprise before he nodded at her. She smiled softly at him, which was an action that he'd thought up more times than he could ever count, even boosted by the fact that he hadn't seen such beauty in such a long time. It seemed that, perhaps, she was making up for all of the lost time that he'd spent not seeing her smile.

She walked behind him, and he could imagine her standing on the very tips of her toes to get closer to his neck, their height difference making it so that she had no other choice. He heard her breath catching in her throat, and her finger slowly traced over it, in that exact same spot that he knew her own mark was located. The next thing that he knew was that she was embracing him, from behind this time.

"You idiot," she said softly, in a tone that was no way scathing or condescending, "It really was there this entire time."

"I've told myself that the entire time I was coming here," he replied, and she let out a light sniffle. "Please tell me that those are happy tears and not sad tears. I can't even imagine how many times my dumb arse has made you cry."

He looked back at her, and, seeing that she was wiping her eyes on the sleeves of her shirt, he felt his hand reaching upwards so as to take her sleeves' place, his thumb pricked with the wetness. She smiled slightly at him. "These are tears you don't have to worry about."

"Rubbish. If they're falling from your face, I do have to worry about them."

She didn't respond immediately, merely pressing her cheek against his sweater as she held him once again. "I think I'd rather they be content tears than sad tears."

"And are you content?" he asked her, his arm secured around her person.

"For now, yes," she said, and he felt his heart swelling up to the size of the moon, as if it was the moon.

If such was the case, he was sure that she'd care deeply for it.

* * *

Though he'd thought this to be true many times, James could finally— finally— say that he was truly and honestly getting better and better by the days, weeks, months.

There was no more of that fear that he'd hurt anyone anymore, and while he had broken up with Eleanor, she didn't at all seem upset by their split. They hadn't both invested every inch of themselves to the relationship, and so nobody came out hurt, which was the best that anyone could have honestly hoped for. Besides, when he'd eventually found her linking hands with someone else, he knew that happiness was to come for everyone in the world.

He'd slowly returned to the old pattern that he'd established with Lily, having taken to walking home with her once again, though without the small romantic elements that were included in their old routine, of course. He walked with his hands shoved in his pockets, while hers were tightly gripping the additional coat that she wore specifically so that he didn't feel obligated to force his own coat onto her person.

It was difficult to be just her friend, especially when their past together contained the best memories he'd ever had in his life. The romantic dreams that he had about them had increased in number now from spending so much time with her, and even more especially when he was so accustomed to showing affection to her, whether it was from holding her hand or pressing light, airy kisses to her forehead. He resolved to hold out for her though, because the promise that this second chance was to eventually come was more than enough to calm him.

He didn't stay over for too long at her flat either, only making sure that she got home safely and occasionally making conversation before leaving her to her own devices. It wasn't that he wanted to leave so soon, but when they were slowly easing into a friendship again, he feared messing everything over to the point that he truly would never see her again.

They'd braved the harshness of winter together, flourished in the flowers of spring, paced the searing heat of summer, and now, as the breezes of autumn came to sweep them up, he couldn't ask for anything better in life. To again spend the most of an entire new year with her— even as just friends— was more than enough for him.

Today, it seemed, would be far more different than any other day that they had been spending together as friends.

There was, as one observed, much emphasis on the 'friends' aspect of their relationship. Still, though, he was more than willing to wait centuries for her— was more than willing to watch as tectonic plates shifted to give rise to new mountains, new landforms, new beauty to marvel at.

They'd made it into her flat, and he was ready to turn around to leave, when her hand reached out and closed around his wrist. "Do you want to stay over today?"

He stopped in his tracks, looking down at their hands before moving up to her face. "I always do, but do you want me to?"

She smiled widely in response. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." She tugged gently at his hand, a signal that she truly did want him to stay, and so he shrugged off his coat, draping it over a chair as he followed her. "Are you hungry?"

He shook his head. "I already ate."

"Then, do you want to get straight to it?"

"It depends on what 'it' is, really, but if it involves you, it has to be a good thing."

"It came from you, so I would say that it is a good thing."

He blinked at her before giving her a look that must have been one of complete confusion. "Your necklace?"

She shook her head, though not before her hand flew up to the pendant around her neck, which she'd worn proudly wherever she went. He wasn't sure if her eyes had been sparkling more than usual or if it was the necklace that was bringing out the greens in them, but whichever it was, her disposition around him had most definitely been much brighter than it had been when he'd first had that bitter reunion with her nearly nine months ago.

"What is it then?" he asked her, but she didn't satisfy him with an answer, or, at least she didn't respond immediately, instead slipping her hand between his, which was a notion that still never failed to send his heart whirling as the feeling of warmth overtook every other one of his senses. She led him to her room, and his eyes were graced with the sight of a box wrapped with a pattern that he was all too familiar with.

He knew what was inside the box immediately, having wrapped it nearly two years ago for her, though, like the necklace, he hadn't gotten around to giving it to her in the time that they were together. At one point in his life, he'd regarded that box as the bane of his existence, and he couldn't at all believe its audacity to sit beneath the Christmas tree, as if its recipient was to show up at his front door to claim it.

It had continued to sit beneath the tree long after the holiday had come to an end, and each day, as he trudged through life without a purpose, he always spotted the present from the corner of his eye until one day, it, along with the tree, disappeared. He'd always assumed that Sirius had taken to throwing it out, or perhaps he himself had done it without consciously knowing, but a bigger part of him knew that one of his mates had taken to delivering it to her. He just never knew what she did with it until now, and it seemed that she'd never bothered with it, perhaps too hurt by the prospect of what could have been inside of it.

"I'd almost considered throwing this away," she admitted, and she sat down on the bed, picking it up. "The fact that I knew what was in here kept me from it, thankfully."

He blinked at her. "You knew what was in here?"

She looked unfazed by his question, her lip drawing upwards at a corner. "James Potter, you should know that I know you better than anyone else. Of course I know. It's the star light projector that we talked about that one time."

He felt a stupid grin breaking out on his face, no matter how much he resisted it, and he seated himself beside her on the bed, watching as her hands undid the tape holding the gift wrapper together. She let out a sound of light triumph when she turned out to be correct and looked towards him, the smile on her face matching the very one that he had now. "I dunno why I doubted you. Are we setting it up now?"

"I led you in here for a reason, didn't I?"

He shrugged at her. "Just in case something's changed."

"It hasn't," she assured him, and she knocked her shoulders against his, "Always watching out for me."

His lips quirked upwards in response. "Let's have it at, shall we?"

"We shall," she affirmed with bright eyes, and she reached over, opening the box that proudly proclaimed to have over sixty thousand stars that could be projected. It had taken far more time than what was probably necessary to set it up, James wanting to just put the first disc in and start the star show, while Lily was insistent on looking over the manual that had come with the laser projector to learn everything there was to know about the gift.

By the time they'd finished setting it up, it must have been an hour, even if it hadn't felt that long, because though time seemed to drag on when he had attempted to learn to live without Lily in his life, the exact opposite seemed to be true, where time sped by whenever he was in her proximity. He couldn't remember the last time he'd smiled as much as he had in the past hour in the presence of someone else, but he knew that if he were to scour his brain, the last memory he'd find with unwarranted joy would include one that he'd shared with her.

He stood up to shut the lights off, and the room was shrouded in complete darkness, but with the click of one button on the projector, the ceiling was alit with stars. He settled down on the bed beside Lily, who was mesmerised by the sight of such celestial bodies, and she was audibly amazed, letting out small gasps. She made no effort to move away from him, even going as far as resting her head right above his shoulder.

He admitted that the sight was lovely but found no inclination to continue staring up at them like Lily was, not when she was right beside him, an incandescent figure of her own. No star could ever match up to her brightness, shining even in this moment, diverting all of his attention to herself. "Oh my goodness," she breathed out beside him, and she pointed upwards, "James, look."

"I'm looking," he replied, feeling a bit more bold than usual. His eyes hadn't ghosted away from her face, especially not now, when they'd adjusted to the darkness, "Yeah, you're really pretty."

She tore her eyes away from the stars, looking at him with widened eyes before narrowing them slightly. "You should be admiring the stars."

He shook his head. "Not when you're so much prettier."

Her eyes softened. "James—"

"These days, I've had a lot of thoughts about us," he admitted to her, and he sighed, a moment's hesitation filling the air before he added, "And there's a lot of things that I haven't gotten to tell you in a long time, for obvious reasons. I thought I should at least let you know that I think you're so gorgeous that I forget to breathe sometimes."

She stared at him, her chest heaving up and down as tears began forming in her eyes, and he vaguely wondered if it was the wrong thing to say to her at a time like this, where she'd only just begun to admire the stars, something she'd wanted to do for the longest of times. "You're— Why does it sound so much better when the compliments fall from your lips than from anyone else?"

"I reckon you know the answer to that."

She shook her head at him. "I've heard so many people dropping compliments at me, but none of them make me feel so unceremoniously happy like yours do."

He felt something inside of him explode at her confession, as if he was filled with stars that had not yet reached their full potential, and her hand reached up to cup his chin, her thumb circling his cheek. "I'm just being the best I could be towards you, if just to make up for the shit I've put you through in the past."

Her lips curved upwards at his words, and he was sure that her eyes were shining now. "I love you, James."

It was as if a cage had been unlocked, its lost key finally found, because he felt all of the butterflies that had created storms in his stomach had finally fluttered free, carrying his feelings outwards so that they were all in the open. It wasn't as if it was a new fact for him to ponder on, but to hear those words— such words that had last been uttered on a day that foresaw complete doom and misery— made him feel both powerful and weak at the same time.

He didn't know where this sudden energy came from, but he suddenly found himself hovering over her, and though she hadn't said a word, he knew that she was anticipating this as well. "You're so lovely. The loveliest person in the world."

The last thing that he made notice of was the smile erupting on her face, a fragment of the projected stars being reflected onto her face, and he pressed his lips against her, slowly at first, so as to gauge her reaction before moving faster as she immediately responded to his touch. It was as if the universe had stopped as soon as they'd made contact, and the stars, which had been leisurely taking their time turning and shifting, had stopped to realign themselves.

When the moon rises, the sun sets, as the universe had made them to do, and that one moment— that one little moment— where they met was quite possibly the literal embodiment of their souls, connecting with one another as opposites came to meet with one another. The mere fact that they were soulmates— though no longer a concept that entirely took over every part of his mind until he obsessed with the idea— added on to the magic that came from the joining of two.

Nearly two years had passed, and yet it had done nothing but deepen his feelings for her, an action that he thought he wasn't even capable of, having thought that his feelings had already been at their peak. There she was, though, her lips tasting like the strawberry lip balm that she'd swiped over her lips earlier, and there was no other sensation that he'd rather enjoy. He held her chin in his hand delicately, tenderly, and his hand wound its way to hers, enclosing around it as he held her close to him. He was vague aware of the quietness that had overtaken the room, the only sounds coming from them, and he shifted slightly, bringing her closer to him.

Sweet.

Sweet was the only word that could accurately describe their kisses.

There was just something so sweet about finding his way back to his first love— his only love— and everything about Lily Evans embodied sweetness, as if it was a characteristic only true to her. True to them.

His lips eventually came to drawing off of hers, and her eyes opened slowly, as if curtains were being drawn to reveal the sunlight seeping in through the windows. It seemed that after days, months, of dreariness, the sun was shining once again. "All right, Evans?" he told her with a light grin, and laughter bubbled from her lips.

"Is this what you say after kissing someone? I don't recall you ever greeting me like that after a kiss."

He couldn't help the goofy grin forming on his face. "I reckon it's only appropriate to greet someone after not seeing them for so long."

"Oh my goodness," she laughed, her eyes lit up with the intensity of a thousand stars, "We did not kiss for that long."

"We've kissed for so long that you've lost perception of time."

She sighed, catching her breath as the laughter falling from her lips began to die down, and she sat up, her hands finding their way to his cheeks. "You're my soulmate."

"That's a nice observation," he replied, his hands following the lengths of her arms so that he could intertwine their hands together, "I'd say the lack of such an observation convinced some idiot to believe that we weren't."

She let out a small sound of content. "I'm glad that he found his way back to her."

He couldn't help the joy that kept resurfacing up from within himself. "I dunno what he'd be doing with himself if she refused to take him back."

"I doubt she'd ever do that."

"Yeah? As stubborn as she is?"

"She loves him far too much to not take him back, even if he's been somewhat of an idiot in the past."

His lips drew upwards. "I love you, Lily."

She merely smiled in response, pulling him down so that she could fit her lips against his once again.

In their journey together, he'd learned so much about her, about himself, about them, and with the warmth that was filling his chest and the stars revolving on both the ceiling and sky, he was sure that there would be so many more experiences that he'd learn from as well. With her, though, he was sure that he'd never succumb to the same mistakes that he'd made in the past.

He was a puzzle, complex and hard to put together, and though he was whole on his own, her presence only seemed to make her even more complete than he already was by himself. She was an independent person, and he was created to share the joys of life with her, not wait for the joys of his life to stroll into the room with the utmost intentions.

And despite that, despite all of his notions— both both and new— about soulmates, they still, in a way, fit perfectly with one another.

* * *

ahhh i hope you enjoyed the story! you can find me on tumblr lovesickjily x


End file.
